SecondBest Destiny
by KCS
Summary: Elements of TNG and TOS, including the movie Generations. Gen. With their universe threatened by the Q Continuum, AOS Kirk and Spock must discover how similar and yet how very different they are from their TOS counterparts. Reunites TOS Kirk and Spock.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: _Second-Best Destiny_  
**Author**: KCS  
**Series**: Star Trek AOS/TOS/TNG (set in the Rebootverse, additional characters from the other two)  
**Characters/Pairings**: Spock, Kirk, Q, Ambassador Spock, TOS Captain Kirk, various  
**Warnings**: Brief (apparent) character death. Spoilers for various TOS episodes and movies, mainly _The Wrath of Khan_ and _Generations_. Minor spoilers for various TNG episodes including _Sarek _and _Unification_, creative license with both serieses and their characters. All references to any of the three universes has been footnoted for those who aren't Trekkers across the board.  
**Rating**: PG-13, but for (apparent) character death only  
**Word Count**: 50,800+  
**Beta**: protectorgf

**Summary**: _"Whatever our lives might have been, our destinies have changed." _- AOS Spock, _ST:XI. _ _"You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny. And, if that's true, then yours is to be by my side." _- Deleted Shatner scene from _ST:XI_, original reference to _ST:II_, _The Wrath of Khan_.  
Destiny requires the existence of universal constants. Is the multiverse governed by random chance, or is it held together by the threads of universal constants - and if the latter, are Kirk and Spock two of them? With their universe threatened by the Q Continuum, AOS Kirk and Spock must discover how similar and yet how very different they are from their TOS counterparts, with highly unexpected results - including the reunion of two iconic figures having been parted for over ninety-five years.

**Personal Notes**: This story is an unmitigated fangirl reaction to the atrocious death of Starfleet's greatest hero in _Generations_, which was I believe the most _lame _of all hero deaths in cinematic history. I'm a die-hard TOS fangirl and always will be, and my heart breaks a little each time I watch Nimoy!Spock in ST:XI, all alone and stranded in this new universe. This is my humble attempt at fixing what Destiny royally messed up in both those universes, without destroying the timeline of either and hopefully without drawing in _every_ cliche in the known Trek universe. It's entirely a double-Kirk-Spock story, and I'm trying to convey that by having all other characters be secondary and in brief appearances. Further explanations at the end of each chapter.  
**Second Personal Notes**: I'd like to thank my good friend, longtime co-author, and beta, PGF (Protector of the Gray Fortress) for being my cheerleader from the start on this ridiculous venture. I procrastinated far too long, and she would not let me give up and let the story die a peaceful death halfway through.

This story was written for the _**startrekbigbang **_on LiveJournal; that's where I and my muse have been for the last three weeks, if anyone was wondering. There is beautiful art and a fanmix to accompany this story by those who signed up for my fic, and you can see it by visiting my LiveJournal (my homepage on my profile here) and clicking on the Master Post link. As an added disclaimer, this is my first time writing in the Rebootverse, as well as my first time writing Q. I spent many hours watching and re-watching XI and TNG in preparation for this fic, and so it is my best attempt though I know it isn't perfect. It's posted in the Reboot section as it's really a Reboot character study, not a true crossover.

* * *

**_Chapter One _**

"As an admittedly above-average intelligent human, you surely cannot profess to truly believe in such a transient ideal."

Skepticism, especially I-am-Vulcan, hear-my-logic skepticism, was something James Tiberius Kirk – _Captain_ James Tiberius Kirk, thank you – was pretty much used to hearing by this point, almost exactly one year into their five(he's still holding out for ten if something doesn't blow them up first)-year mission.

Sniping with (read: at) Spock was _also_ something he was used to, although his First always called it "discussion" and Bones called it "bickering" and Uhura just laughed and the rest of the Bridge crew placed bets on how long it would be before an eyebrow went up or he dropped an inappropriate innuendo just to see Spock blush.

"Did you just call me above-average intelligent?" He gaped for a moment at the expressionless features of his First, and then swiveled his chair dramatically toward his helmsman. "Mr. Sulu, did my First Officer just call me above-average intelligent?"

"For a _human_," Uhura clarified helpfully from behind him, and the nearest crew members grinned.

He only smirked, because by now he was able to read his Spock well enough to know the guy closed his eyes instead of rolling them, and he'd done it twice in the last two minutes.

Not that he'd been keeping tally, or something.

He was saved from getting his own back with half-Vulcan vengeance by the incoming transmission about their imminent mission, and soon afterward the subject was forgotten amid the chaos of an away contact gone badly, horribly wrong. Through no fault of their own, he and his team barely escaped from the negotiations with their lives, and that only through the quick action of his First Officer, who had assimilated the possibilities, diagnosed, and called for medical assistance before anyone _died_ – for which he was grateful, because they were rarely that fortunate.

He should have known better than to think Spock forgot about the topic, however; for he'd barely fought his way out from under Bones's post-emergency sedation when the subject was broached again.

He wasn't sure whether it was the medication, the nausea smoldering low in his stomach, or the fact that Spock was waiting patiently (with much eyebrow-frowning in what probably wasn't the concern that it looked like) beside his bed for him to wake up, that made him want to sniffle like a girl; maybe all of them, but he decided he was going with the medication answer for now.

Or, the fact that he would cheerfully empty his stomach on the spot, were it not for the fact that he was so not about to throw up all over his First Officer. He'd save it for when Bones came back to check the IV drip in his hand.

"Being poisoned sucks," was his first articulate observation to anyone within earshot, and he heard a snort from the nearby desk.

"Indeed." The placid rejoinder came from beside his left ear, and he turned his head so he didn't get a crick in his neck trying to talk to Spock.

"Status?" Yeow, it hurt to talk. Just eye movement made his stomach roll over and do a dozen other tricks, and in addition his throat was on fire.

Spock didn't skip a beat, but he did glance pointedly over desk-ward. A muttered curse drifted pleasantly toward them. Ah, Bones. "The ship is currently still in orbit around Durinius, Captain," he was informed in his First's placid, unruffled tones. "The High Chancellor insists that he knew nothing of his aide's actions in the attempt to poison the negotiating party."

"That's a load of –"

"I am aware," Spock interrupted wryly. "Starfleet Command has ordered a halt to the proceedings pending an investigation by a substitute ship and ambassadorial party. Once relieved by theambassadorial vessel _Lincoln_, we may leave orbit and continue on our mission to chart the Phi Delta sector."

"And good riddance," was the grumpy mutter from the other side of his head, and something blue and cranky leaned over him to check the IV drip's levels. "Took me two hours to pump you all's stomachs, and you _would_ be allergic to the poison antidote, you _moron_."

He wanted to laugh at the annoyed look that crept unnoticed into his First's eyes; Spock as a rule got more irritated with people for getting on his case than he did with Jim's idiocy himself. It was kind of adorable, actually, though if he were ever to say so he was well aware the action would stop on the instant. Which is why he only thought those kinds of things, and that much only when he was doped to the gills on whatever Bones currently had him pumped full of.

"How do you feel, Jim?" Bones was asking, and from the worried edge in his voice it was probably the third time he'd been asked. Whoops.

"Gross," he decided was the most descriptive word after a pause for consideration. He moved his head from Spock to turn it toward Bones, and realized that was an extremely bad idea.

Extremely.

"Yeah, gross is the word," was the echoing observation, as his stomach protested the lurching in the customary way. Luckily for Spock's shoes, Bones was a fast man with a basin.

"A little sympathy here?" he gasped, swallowing painfully against an already raw throat.

"I'm a doctor, not a nursemaid," Bones grunted sourly, and settled him back down on the bed before leaving to dispose of what was left of his stomach lining.

He cocked a pleading gaze at Spock, with (not unusually) no result.

Pouting was out of the question, simply because it would expend too much effort to be worth it, and so he settled for sighing drearily and staring at the ceiling in vacant misery.

Spock's peace offering of a bendy-straw-crowned water cup mollified him somewhat, and when he kept the four ounces of fluid down it made him happy enough to love the whole world.

Except sniveling little governmental aides who lace the planet's equivalent of coffee with enough vegetable alkaloid to kill a horse.

He was about to inquire about the status of the other landing party members when two of them, Ensigns Suroven and Tompkins, scuttled hastily through the ward, casting a wary look behind them.

Spock's eyebrow bounced up to his hair and back down again.

"I think I deserve my own room, 's often as I come here," he observed a moment later, after he was sure the water was still going to play nice with his stomach.

"I do not believe that would be incentive for you to avoid circumstances that might place you here."

He grinned, because he knew it annoyed Spock. "So, about that…think you can bust me out of here before Bones comes back?"

"Negative, considering that he is currently standing in the doorway, eavesdropping," Spock replied, flicking a glance to the entry.

"You move a finger from that bed and I'll have you strapped down for five days, Jim," the physician snarled, and then disappeared in a flurry of grumpiness, probably to beat his head against the nearest solid object to hand.

Jim stared. "How does he _do_ that?"

"I would not know, sir."

Judging from the rapidity with which Security Chief Giotto came slinking out of the observation ward a minute later, Jim was getting off easy with the good doctor – due to his standing as a returning customer, no doubt.

Giotto spied him and snapped a sloppy half-salute, earning a disapproving Vulcan glare.

"Hey hey, Cupcake," he greeted the man with a smirk, ignoring the annoyed look he got in response before his SC quickened his pace to avoid being called back by a cranky Chief Medical Officer. (1)

His brain felt a little fuzzy around the edges, which meant Bones's meds were kicking in at random times again, and he yawned so suddenly it startled both of them.

"I shall leave you to your rest, Captain," Spock said, and began to stand.

He waved in protest, though it looked more like a floppy hand dive into the blanket. "'M not really sleepy," he explained thickly, despite the annoying fact that his eyes would barely focus. Suddenly he remembered what time it was, and he nearly shot out of bed, jack-knifing upright and setting off all kinds of alarms in the monitors overhead.

Swearing erupted from the other room, and Spock reacted instantly, slapping at the minor klaxon that wailed to tattle on the patient's precipitous actions. Jim flopped back onto the pillow as a strong hand planted itself with force against his blanketed chest, and closed his eyes until Bones was done ranting about his senselessness.

Finally the melee died down, and he opened his eyes to meet Spock's stern ones. "I forgot?" he tried sheepishly, and received no quarter. He scowled. "We're going to miss our conference call with Old You, Spock," he added mournfully, and sincerely so, for he did enjoy them even if Spock – his Spock – protested every time about the communication.

Spock _twitched_. "Is the Ambassador aware that you call him that?"

He shrugged. "I think he thinks it's funny. No really," he added, as Spock's eyebrow glared at him, "his mouth does that little twitchy thing that yours does when you're trying not to laugh at one of us being an idiot…like that time on Gamma Tortuga when Bones fell in that puddle of fluorescent blue mud and looked like a grumpy blueberry for days…"

"I have already contacted the Ambassador and informed him of your status," and yes, he was definitely getting ignored regarding the whole Vulcans-don't-have-a-sense-of-humor-thing, "and he will postpone the call until such time as you are able to converse coherently." Spock was miffed, he could tell – not that he'd ever admit it, but the guy could be awfully jealous sometimes and the whole thing was a touchy paradoxical subject anyhow. The next words proved it. "As it stands, it would cause no great harm to simply skip this week's call, Captain."

"When are you going to get off that soapbox, Spock?" he asked, as the first real flare of irritation he had felt in a long time flared up to burn in his gut along with the nausea.

Spock had the grace to not feign ignorance of the expression. "I simply believe you are foolhardy to so tamper with the timestream as to ask some of the questions you do, Captain. Despite the fact that the Ambassador refuses to answer many of them, I nonetheless question your wisdom in gaining any knowledge we are not meant to have; nothing more."

He sighed in more than just physical exhaustion. "Our timestream's already been tampered with, Spock; you know that better than I do. I believe in using every resource available to beat unfair odds, and you believe that's cheating. We'll just have to agree to disagree." He was so _tired_, he realized when the last few words slurred into a prolonged yawn.

Spock didn't argue the point, because they'd already done it so often it was like a memorized standup routine now. They would probably never agree on it, but he'd found to his fascination that there were an awful lot of things that he and Spock just simply liked to disagree on – friendly fighting could be enjoyable (or fascinating, was Spock's code word for it).

He was unprepared for the lights to dim in his cubicle at Spock's voice command, and scowled sleepily up at the Vulcan as he turned to leave. But halfway across the room, his First paused, looked back at him, hands clasped serenely behind his back.

"I would be interested in finishing our discussion which was interrupted earlier on the Bridge, Captain, tomorrow after our conference call."

He cracked one sleepy eye, muddled brain taking a few seconds to process the fact that his First Officer wanted to have a philosophical debate about _destiny_, of all things, right after talking to his time-paradox of an old self.

His brain was hurting way too badly to make sense of that. "Sure thing," he mumbled, half into the pillow, and he barely heard Spock refilling the water cup and leaving it by his bed before he blinked out so quickly he later wondered if _he'd_ been given a voice command somehow.

-ooo-

"So you don't believe in it."

"I do not," Spock agreed. Thin fingers lingered for a moment on the black rook, as his First made certain he wished to complete that move.

"I suppose you believe it's illogical to believe in something so intangible as destiny?"

"More that it is illogical to believe there are certain absolutes which exist in each universe, certain events and people whose existence is preordained by some unknown force such as you refer to. Check."

He was losing, but at least this time he had lasted longer than fifteen minutes. One thing in which he evidently differed from Old Spock's Jim Kirk was that he was really not that good at chess. His interests lay elsewhere during the Academy; while he knew the game and how to play a good one, he didn't really enjoy it as much as a physical workout or other, more active, pursuits. (2)

"Well when you put it like that it sounds dumb, of course," he grunted, and shoved his remaining bishop into place to block the check.

"In which way would you like me to 'put it', Captain?"

"Look, do I have to _die_ on an away mission to get you to call me 'Jim,' or what?" he asked.

"I would prefer you did not."

"Well maybe I will to spite you then." Sticking his tongue out at his First was a highly unprofessional action, but since when had that ever stopped him?

Spock ignored him and only swept his queen down to the lowest level with a look of unholy smugness. "Checkmate."

He tipped his king, yawning to show that he didn't really care about the game and therefore Spock shouldn't be too full of himself over beating him (in reality he was seething, but that would only make the guy more smug).

"I take it from your adverse reaction, that you do believe in destiny, Captain?"

"Jim," he growled, but with no real animosity. "And…yeah, I think I do."

"May I inquire why?" There was real curiosity in Spock's deep eyes, and the absence of any petty animosity mitigated the sting of his next words. "I would think that you would have a rather low opinion of this force of Destiny, since a flaw in what was its original flow of time killed your father."

"And your mother," he pointed out, but gently (they were well past petty jabs at each other in that area, and could discuss the events like the adults they were), and received a calculated nod before Spock's eyes shuttered down into cool detachment.

He knew better than to believe what he saw, and so he went on. "I never said it hadn't screwed up along the way, Spock," he began, leaning back in his seat with his legs stretched out in front of him. "But I have to believe there's some kind of destiny out there."

"Why?"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, but swallowed before he let the words fall. "Because…" and this was harder than he'd have thought to speak about, even more than a year after the fact, "…because if there's no destiny in the universe, Spock…I don't see how Bones, and Uhura, and you and I, and a few other lucky people we care about…got assigned to the _Enterprise_ in the Battle of Vulcan (3). I don't see how we could have been so lucky as to have the helmsman sick and Sulu replace him, forget to disengage the inertial dampener, putting us just far enough behind the Fleet that we survived the initial slaughter. I don't see how random chance could have worked out in our favor every single time that day – if even one thing had gone differently, we might only be space debris now."

His voice was more like a whisper, out of respect for those not so fortunate as they had been, and from the sudden light of realization in Spock's eyes he knew the reasoning had hit home.

"I mean, when I think about how easily Bones could have been assigned to the – the _Farragut_," and no, his voice wasn't _cracking_ still, remembering Gaila and her gorgeous smile…no, that thought route was a _bad_ idea right now, "or how Uhura actually _was_ until you switched her –"

Spock flinched despite that famed Vulcan control, and he knew enough to back off before the crack in the granite of his First's expression became a fissure.

"I _have_ to believe in it, Spock," he finished with a gesture of helplessness. "There has to be some kind of destiny in the universe, even if it's warped from what it should have been. Otherwise think of how many variables would have had to become massive coincidence to bring us to where we are today? If you'd jettisoned me on any planet other than Delta Vega – for Pete's sake, don't pull the guilty puppy-eyes routine again, I'm just using an example – or if Old You hadn't remembered that transwarp beaming equation, or if Pike hadn't seen those Romulans sneaking up behind me while I was springing him, or if you hadn't gone to warp when you did and took the _Narada_ away from the Sol system so that massive wormhole didn't suck the whole quadrant in, or –"

"Enough, Jim," Spock interjected, and the idea of his being so discourteous as to interrupt showed clearly how disturbing the guy found this conversation. "I see your reasoning for belief in such a system of destiny, but I do not believe our lives are governed by some force as you describe. To believe in such would take away the freedom of choice and free will afforded to every being in the galaxy."

"I'm not saying Destiny decided my favorite color would be green and that I'd have corn flakes for breakfast this morning, Spock," he replied with a grin, and saw the tension fade from his First's pinched features at his flippancy. "But there are certain, more important, things that you can't explain as just monstrous coincidences. Can you?"

Spock's eyebrows did their knitting-together thing. "I cannot explain the chain of events you describe as entire coincidence," he admitted slowly. "But the majority of them were simply the logical progression of thought processes and decisions – human or otherwise – to set in motion that same chain of events. A certain element of random chance must be factored into the equation, in addition to the will power of decision."

"You're just sticking a different label on it and calling it 'logical decision-making,'" he protested, all interest in a chess rematch forgotten in the euphoria he always got from talking nerdy with Spock. "Tomato, to-mah-to. I call it Destiny, you call it logical decisions and an element of random chance operating in our favor."

"As you called it utilizing every resource available to you to beat the odds, and I simply called it _cheating_."

"Heh." So Spock _did_ have a sense of humor, layered in between the stiffness like the surprise guacamole in the middle of a seven-layer dip. "Well, I can't argue with your beautiful _logic_, Mr. Spock," he finally said, throwing his hands up in the air in an exaggerated gesture of defeat.

"A wise decision, to not attempt it," was the sage observation, just as his inter-comm whistled.

It never ended. He reached over, chair tipping precariously on its back supports, and slapped haphazardly at the switch. "Kirk here."

"Sir, deflector shields have picked up an anomaly in space zhat is not on our charts," Chekov's voice filtered through, accent heavily pronounced due to excitement. "You had better bring the Commander up and see for yourself, Keptin."

"Could you possibly be more specific in details than 'an anomaly,' Mr. Chekov?" Spock's voice intoned behind him, and he resisted the urge to grin at the sudden squirming he was sure was going on on the other end of the communication.

"Aye, sir, right avay, sir…eet appears to be a…fluctuation of energy, sir."

He could practically hear Spock's patient mentoring sigh. "Type of energy, Ensign?"

"…Unknown, sir."

Fantastic. He sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes, as Spock looked ceiling-ward in that gods-help-me-I-live-amongst-idiots expression he used far too often.

"But the sensors say there ees nothing there, Commander," the Russian whiz kid's voice articulated quickly, and then he rattled off a series of numbers and statistics to prove the thing, whatever it was, couldn't really be there or it would register.

"Chekov, continue monitoring," he instructed, wishing for something a little more exciting than a sensor malfunction to happen. "We'll be up there shortly. And –"

"Keptin, the energy reading ees speeding toward us! It's –"

"INTRUDER ALERT," the generic female tones of the computer warned cheerfully. "Repeat, Intruder Alert. All hands, General Quarters. Alert status."

The back supports of his chair thudded on the durasteel and rocked crazily as he shot out of his seat seconds after Spock had already darted from the room, all thoughts of destiny and chance and random factors operating in their favor forgotten.

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter One**  
(1) I am, for anyone who doesn't already know this, a continuity geek, and though I know it's been done before, I do like the idea of the TOS Security Chief Giotto's counterpart being the individual we see in the AOS as 'Cupcake.' Yes, it's been done before, I am aware, but I think it's the most…_logical_, conclusion.  
(2) A common misconception among TOS-ers is that James Kirk beat Spock all the time at chess. We only see him actually beat Spock once, in _Charlie X_, and we see him on the odd occasion giving Spock a run for his money. However, we do _not_ see him beating Spock often, as people seem to believe. I don't see the AOS Kirk as deriving the same enjoyment from the game as TOS Kirk, more because he seems to prefer active sports. They may be alternate persons, but they are not the _same_ person, and therefore I chose to make some subtle differences in character.  
(3) I've no idea if that's the fanon name for the Nero disaster; I've seen it in a few fics but as we don't see it specifically named in canon I've chosen to go with that for now as it seems the most logical name.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

He barreled out of the turbolift, followed closely by Spock. "Report."

"Energy reading suddenly fluctuated and then penetrated our shields, sir," Sulu's crisp reply fell into empty space as the young man evacuated the command chair and resumed the navigation console. "Because we can't identify it and it's moving so fast, we can't tell where in the ship it is."

"Deflector shields snapped on vhen it approached, sir," Chekov spoke up, casting a glance at Spock as he bent over the Science console, "but it made no difference to the anomaly's speed or ability to penetrate them."

"Whatever it is, it is indeed aboard the ship, Captain," Spock reported. "Sensors do not register any unidentified life-forms, and yet –"

He spun his chair toward his Communications Chief. "Lieutenant?"

"I hailed it on all languages and frequencies when we first sighted it, Captain, as per regulation. No response of any kind. But it made a beeline straight toward us, so it is at least intelligent if not sentient."

He had a headache, and it only promised to get worse. Fantastic. "Silence that klaxon," he snapped, though from the curt nod and understanding look he received he knew Uhura was aware he wasn't irritated with her personally. "All hands stand by red alert. Lock down Sickbay and the Auxiliary Bridge." He glanced over at Spock's raised eyebrow as his Communications Chief barked orders into the ship's inter-comm. "If it is an intelligent life-form and it can get through our shields, I bet it can take over anything here it wants to," he explained tersely, "but it can't hurt to try to keep it out."

The pinging of an alarm on Spock's console distracted the Vulcan for a moment. "Captain, unidentified energy readings are distorting our internal scans…"

Giving an exclamation of pain, Uhura suddenly yanked the earpiece from her ear and cursed (in Cardassian, he thought, but wasn't about to ask for a translation). "Something's causing all communications channels to malfunction with interference and static, sir," she growled, rubbing the side of her head.

Judging from the pained expression on his First's face, Spock's Vulcan ears no doubt had already picked up the maddening whine of interference that was currently humming throughout the air on the Bridge – even he could feel the electricity in the air.

He swung the command chair back toward Uhura. "Can we send out a subspace burst to Starfleet? We may not get a chance later."

The woman's eyes flashed. "I doubt it, but I'll do what I can to clear the emergency channel at least," she vowed, and immediately dropped with vicious intent to the motherboard under the console.

Now was _not_ the time to be ogling his Communications Lieutenant's legs (and otherwise) in that short skirt; and besides, Spock was giving him a glare that clearly said _don't even think about it lest I knife you in your sleep._ Honestly, even if she and Spock weren't dating any more, they might as well be for all the protectiveness the Vulcan still showed toward her (as if Uhura couldn't take care of herself better than half his male crew, much to their embarrassment). (1)

He yanked his mind back into the here and now, and turned his chair back toward the viewscreen.

And nearly fell out of it when suddenly the humming stopped and a figure appeared from nowhere, less than five feet from him.

Chekov gave a startled yelp, drawing the attention of the rest of the Bridge crew.

"_Well_," the being huffed in a clearly affronted tone. "I would have expected more of a reaction than _that_. Darling little thing, isn't he?"

Oh for heaven's sake, not another of those I-am-a-god-so-obey-me-no-really-I-am-I-swear-it entities that enjoyed preying on his crew. And this one was dressed in some weird approximation of what might have been a Starfleet Engineering uniform in a universe that worshipped the ancient god of Technicolor; the insignia and cut were correct, except the flaming red hue was so loud his eyeballs screwed up in pain.

The menacing movement of air told him his Vulcan shadow was looming behind him, and that gave him the courage to not plant his face in his hands. "Who the heck are you, and how long will it take you to get off my ship?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh, come, come, Captain; you are even less amusing than your parallel-universal counterparts!" Whoever – whatever – it was, it was smiling, and it was scarier than Spock performing a shuttlecraft pre-flight checklist. "You starship captains are all alike; it's always _why are you on my ship_, and _what have you done with my ship_, and _excuse me, I have a romantic evening planned with my ship_, and –"

Wonderful, so his Bridge had been appropriated by a delusional who was also just _sick_.

Wait, parallel-universal counterparts?

He shot out of his chair, and nearly ran into the man standing before him, who was watching with amused eyes. "What are you?" he growled.

The man winked. "Would you believe me if I told you I am an Omnipotent?"

"What, not another one?" Sulu snickered as he produced a theatrical groan. "Why can't you people leave us alone?"

The man looked highly affronted. "Do you mean to say another of us has been in contact with you, James?"

He scowled. "Don't call me that. And we get all kinds of wack jobs in this business. It's in the job description, dealing with entities that think they can learn from humanity by putting them through various tests. It gets old after awhile, doesn't it, Spock?"

"Indeed," was the sagacious observation.

"You should have seen the creeps we ran into on Triskelion last month," he continued helpfully, enjoying the look of exasperation that was creeping across the guy's face. (2) "They've got nothing on the magical appearance flair, though. Now how about you tell me what you want, so that I can pass or fail your test and you can kindly leave us alone?"

The being looked at him studiously, head cocked to one side, and again he wanted to close his eyes against the garish brilliance of the scarlet uniform. Honestly, what idiot would have ever assigned that color to Security in any universe was an absolute moron; it wouldn't have been camouflaged anywhere except a circus tent.

"Mm, I do see the differences," was the thoughtful comment, and a sudden brilliant flash of light blinded him for a moment. Throwing an arm up over his face, he blinked after the fact, and saw that his crew had reflexively started toward him.

Scowling at the intruder, he waved them curtly back to their stations, and all but Spock obeyed. The being was now garbed in the subdued maroon of their current Engineering uniform, and the weave had transformed to the same material as their own clothing.

"An improvement, certainly…" The being patted himself down in curiosity. "And I have to say, friend James, that this _Enterprise_ is certainly ahead of her time. The pristine white instead of that _awful_ drab grey is a distinct improvement in interior decorating. Now, if you could only have acquired a sense of _humor_ in the universe-splintering, that would make this whole affair _so_ much easier."

"I have a sense of humor," he replied coolly. One quick twitch of his hand behind his back, and he didn't have to look backward to see Uhura signaling Security through the now-clear channel. "You're just not very funny, dude. I mean, honestly, I've seen Vulcans that were a riot compared to you. And that's really lame, y'know."

"Indeed," came Spock's dead-pan answer from over his shoulder, only proving his point. He nearly laughed, and stopped himself just in time.

The being looked even more offended. "You wound me, James," said he with a melodramatic grimace.

"I wish," he muttered, glancing surreptitiously at the turbolift, willing the squad to come through it and give him backup.

The man in front of him yawned and then inspected his nails. "They are frozen in place, six levels down; your lifts are all malfunctioning, Captain. Quite mysteriously, too; are you certain that Mr. Scott of yours is truly as efficient as he professes to be?"

He was seething now; this wasn't amusing any longer. "All right," he snapped, fists clenching at his sides as he stepped forward. "What are you, and what do you want with me?"

"Your parallel counterpart encountered me in my somewhat impetuous, misspent youth, whilst I had assumed the name of Trelane," the being replied, smirking at some unknown memory, "but you may simply call me…Q." (3,4)

"Q." Some vague memory stirred briefly in his head – one of those vestiges of stolen remembrance that occasionally flared up, residual from his impromptu mind-meld (he referred to it personally as more of a mind-_dumping_) a year ago with Old Spock. A smiling, cocksure face; a tense argument between this guy and a dignified, balding captain, half-seen through an old man's mental eyes during a grief-filled mind fusion. And a very young, immature child-god, practicing his parlor tricks on an unamused _Enterprise_ crew…in another lifetime, another universe.

Oh, crap.

"You…really are an Omnipotent," he stated flatly, mentally thanking the 'inappropriate contact' (his Spock's words, not his own) he had had with the Ambassador so long ago for this slight advantage.

A smile, but full of malicious intent instead of amusement. "I am."

"Captain?" Poor Spock was obviously clueless.

He sighed, looked back at his surprised crew. "He's from our parallel universe – the one Nero came from."

"Technically, it is not merely a parallel universe; it is your parent universe, and you are merely a splinter of it, along with the other splintered universes which resulted from Ambassador Spock's making a royal _hash_ out of the Romulan supernova," Q replied, with a gesture of well-bred disdain. (5)

Hot anger bred of loyalty pulsed through him at the disrespect – because he had seen how the mistake of a lifetime, the destruction of the only dream Ambassador Spock had left in the universe, had broken the elderly Vulcan's heart. "It wasn't his fault," he snapped, surprising himself with the amount of ire that fused hatred into the words.

"Of course it was; he miscalculated," Q responded, seemingly surprised. A flippant wave of a languid hand. "These things happen. Destiny does not take into consideration the shortcomings of you petty mortals who inhabit the continuum of space-time."

Jim took a deep breath, forced his fists to unclench.

"But the consequences of his mistake caused the ramifications you see yourself in the universe around you," Q added. "Universes created when they were never meant to exist, lives changed when they should not have been tampered with. The man is a walking paradox." The being's eyes flicked pointedly to Spock. "You were never intended to live in a splintered universe from the Primary Universe."

"Nevertheless, we do. Your insistence upon bringing up what might have been is not logical," Spock interjected calmly, voicing an opinion for the first time in the whole weird conversation. "Whatever our lives might have been in your universe, our destinies have changed." (6)

"But that's just it, Spock of Vulcan," Q dropped his voice conspiratorially, causing both of them to have to lean forward to hear him. "Or should I say Spock of _New_ Vulcan? No matter." Kirk closed his eyes to keep from showing how badly he wanted to punch the so-called-Omnipotent in the face. "Your precious Ambassador Spock destroyed your destinies; you _have_ no destiny now – because your universe was never meant to exist in the first place."

"I fail to see your point," he snapped at last, losing patience with the scientific runaround. "If you are from the universe from which we splintered, what is your purpose here, with us?"

Q raised his hands in a shrug. "Just remember, don't shoot the messenger; I'm not responsible for the whole mess."

"Spit. It. _Out_," he snarled.

A melodramatic sigh. "Very _well_, Captain, if you insist." Q assumed a mockery of a military attention, eyes on the bulkhead behind the command chair and an attitude of sheer boredom infusing his voice. "Captain James T. Kirk, I regret to inform you that your universe has been deemed a fluke of Time-distortion, and is scheduled for destruction on the grounds that it was never intended to exist in the first place and therefore is superfluous in the scheme of universal Time."

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Two**  
(1) As you can see, I don't ship Spock/Uhura. No offense to anyone out there who does, but I simply don't see any type of chemistry between them whatsoever. I don't ship any slash pairings, either, but again that's no offense to anyone out there who does, but as a warning you won't see romance in my fics. I believe the world needs more gen fic, and so that's what I've written. I just don't see, logically or emotionally, Spock/Uhura remaining as what the XI movie was obviously trying to force into play. Just doesn't work for me. (Besides, as a die-hard TOS fan, I'll always ship Scotty/Uhura. :P)  
(2) As I said, I'm a continuity geek. You're going to see many oblique and overt references to TOS in this story, as I just can't help it. I'll footnote the obvious ones (in this case, _The Gamesters of Triskelion);_ feel free to let me know you've caught the not-so-obvious ones.  
(3) I have no real evidence to back this up, but because again I like continuity, I'd like to think Trelane in TOS's _The Squire of Gothos_ was a very young Q. Again, pure speculation, but it's at least possible.  
(4) If you're not a TNG fan and don't know who Q is, you probably can continue to read the story without needing to know. If you're interested, watch some of the TNG episodes in which he appears; I personally recommend _Q-Who_ as one of his best performances. He's one of those characters I absolutely love to hate, if you know what I mean. It's my first time writing him, and so I can only hope I do his character justice.  
(5) There are a bunch of discussions and theories out there about the Reboot movie and what that means to the OS. I choose, because the idea of completely erasing that universe I love so much makes me ill to think of, to believe the splinter universe theory, that the AOS is merely a parallel, a splinter of that parent universe, rather than a complete rewriting of everything I know and love. That's my premise for this fic.  
(6) This last line is a paraphrased quote from the ST:XI movie; it belongs to those writers and is not my content.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Most of my regular readers know this, but I probably should disclaim so no one thinks I'm omitting or changing out of ignorance; I view _canon _as what is seen on the screen or in the books, whichever came first, and nothing more. Therefore I do not always accept movie novelizations, book adaptations, other media, or anything else in any fandom as canon. If you see something in my fics that disagrees from generally accepted fanon, or deviates from novelizations or other literary works, then that is why. I view as canon only what I see in the originals. Just wanted to make sure any new readers of mine know that.**

**And now, the next chapter.**

**_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter Three_**

You could have gotten frostbite from the cold silence that fell.

Then he started toward the being before him, hands flexing. Q twitched, almost nervously, and backed away with upraised hands.

"Look, I knew you wouldn't take the news well, and I _told_ them that you wouldn't," the being protested, still backing away. "I mean, your parallel counterpart had absolutely _no_ tolerance for me and no sense of humor to boot. But noooo, you had to be fairly warned, had to have a chance to get your questions answered before you're just eliminated from the Continuum, and –"

"You have _ten freaking seconds_ to explain yourself," he snarled through clenched teeth. "Or, Omnipotent or not, I will _kill_ you or die trying."

"Oh." The being cocked an eyebrow at him. "Explaining is simple enough. But since you are to be condemned, shall we not retire to a more comfortable locale for this last conversation?"

Jim started, blinking, as suddenly they were in a lavish room resembling an old-fashioned, ornately-furnished library. He'd never seen so many antique books before in his life – shelf after shelf, floor to ceiling, all beckoning him with their promise of adventure and knowledge. The smell of real books and ink and leather and paper assaulted his senses, sending them reeling with its heady atmosphere, and he was grinning despite himself before he knew it. (1)

Then a tall figure clad in an argyle sweater-vest over a collared shirt and gray pants came around the corner, dark eyes lighting on him with a small gleam of relief, and he nearly laughed aloud at the sight.

Spock's eyebrows twisted into a grimace, and he yanked a pair of old-fashioned, black-rimmed eyeglasses off his head with enough alacrity that the fragile frames twisted to bits in his hands.

"Tsk," a voice observed from the next aisle. "I always took you for the awkward geeky type, Spock…ah well."

If Spock looked like that (which honestly wasn't half bad), Jim really didn't want to know what he looked like himself, and so he settled for carefully looking only at the Omnipotent, who was lounging near a table littered with open volumes. Q wore a ridiculous outfit including a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves held up by rubber bands, spectacles attached to a chain around his neck, and an enormous name-tag that said (superfluously) BE QUIET.

Honestly, he could see why Old Kirk didn't have any patience with the child-in-a-god's-body. "If you're done playing dress-up, I'd like to know what you did with my ship and where we are?" he demanded, his tone so emphatically unamused that he knew Spock would be proud.

"We are nowhere, and everywhere. But do sit down, James." Q gestured to the conference table.

"I'll stand."

"You'll sit."

Another of those horrid flashes of light (honestly, melodrama much?) and he felt the leather of a conference chair beneath him; he'd been dumped in the seat like a wandering child into his crib.

Spock, settling in disgruntled aloofness beside him, apparently had been as well.

"Coffee?" A steaming cup appeared before him, and he stiffened as the instant assault on his senses told him it was real coffee, not the god-awful brew the replicators tried to produce on board ship.

He wavered for a moment, looking from the cup to the amused face of the Omnipotent across the table.

"Really, Captain. If I chose to kill you, it would not be by so uninteresting a method as poisoning you," Q said with dry humor. "That would hardly be…"

"Sporting?" he finished, one side of his mouth quirking.

The grin he received seemed to actually be genuine; perhaps he was beginning to understand this being better.

Spock sniffed his own cup, and then sipped slowly. Then his eyes widened barely perceptibly over the rim.

"Vulcan spice tea," the Vulcan murmured under his breath at Jim's quizzical look. "It is…extremely rare, now."

"Understandably," he returned softly.

"Fascinating."

"Not the word I'd choose, but we'll go with it," he snorted, sipping from the cup before him.

"Satisfactory?" Q inquired.

"Frankly, it's amazing. But that's not going to get you out of explaining this load of bull you're giving me," he replied, leaning back in the chair (it was awfully comfortable, he had to admit, though not as made of awesome as his captain's chair on the bridge).

Q sighed, sending the pages on a nearby book fluttering restlessly. "It isn't my doing, you know."

"You said that. I don't care whose doing it is. Explain."

"Ugh. Well," the Omnipotent began, absently snapping his fingers and making the books disappear from the table, "you understand the basics of inter-dimensional physics, and the theories of the multiverse?"

"Basically, yeah." Actually he'd written one of his three theses on the theory of parallel universes and the consequences of one decision creating alternate realities, but getting people to underestimate him was one of his most valuable weapons, and he knew how to use it.

"Then you know that time is infinite; space is not."

"Time is only a measurement, or a dimension, of space," Spock interjected with an eyebrow frown over his cup. "It technically does not exist, except as a method by which to measure that space."

"To you mortals, yes," Q sighed, waving a tolerant hand. "It truly isn't explainable to your finite minds, but the space-time continuum is a pliant fabric, not the set course of events you mortals usually think of it as. It can be manipulated, stretched, bent, distorted, changed, even torn, and the consequences are disastrous. Throughout the history of the universe, men have been changing what was first destined to be. Your historical tales of Adam and Eve; your own experience with Nero; the mirror universe of my own Primary Universe, in which your Original counterpart wreaked havoc with the Imperial Galactic Empire by changing that universe's Spock; countless others with which I won't bore you and you don't need to know the details anyway. The fact remains that you mortals keep tampering with Destiny, and always have throughout the history of the multiverse."

"We're human…at least I am," he amended, "and we can't be expected to behave according to some unseen force's mandates."

"Understandable," Q agreed. "And we of the Continuum believe in permitting mortals the free choice of will – to an extent. But at some point in time, there comes a place where Destiny must be righted, the scales rebalanced because they have been so far distorted from their Original Intent."

"Illogical," Spock stated calmly. "Your statement is in itself a paradox. You cannot permit mortals free will only to an extent; when a boundary is imposed upon freedom, it ceases to be free. By its very nature, free will must be an absolute; when it becomes less, it is no longer by definition freedom."

"The powers and forces of the universe are not bound by your perception of logic and justice, Spock," the being replied, an icy edge in his voice. "We do not answer to mortals in how we balance the scales, for you are incapable of understanding what must happen to keep the universe from degenerating into utter chaos. Your most basic of scientific laws state that all things left to their own devices tend toward chaos, toward disorder – not toward order; how then do you think the universe _remains_ in order but by our interference?"

Spock was silent, and Kirk glanced at him to see him utterly at a loss to counter the faulty logic in the Omnipotent's words.

"While Time is infinite, space is not. In the multiverse, there do exist a finite number of universes that can be permitted to occupy the same space-time; there comes a point where the risk of universes overlapping and interphasing, the risk of temporal anomalies wreaking havoc with the continuum and literally unraveling the fabric of time, becomes too great, and the process must be halted. If we were to permit to continue every parallel universe that sprang into existence with each choice a mortal makes, then eventually two of those incalculable septillions of universes would overlap and breach space-time, destroying the multiverse and everything in it."

"It's like an overpopulation problem," Jim suddenly interjected. "The more people you have living crammed together, the greater the probability that violence will result, and the greater probability that serious harm will occur."

Q regarded him thoughtfully. "Correct. Preventing universes from colliding and breaching space-time is a major part of the Continuum's intervention in the affairs of mortals. Without constant weeding out of the lesser important universes, eventually space-time itself would rupture under the strain of containing so many."

Silence, broken only by the rustling of ghostly pages in the apparently-deserted library. Kirk shoved his lukewarm coffee away from him and then looked across the table at the Omnipotent, who had finished his resigned explanation.

"And you, apparently, have decided that our universe is one of those that must be weeded out?"

"Correct," Q agreed, far too cheerfully. "As if the dear old Ambassador hadn't done enough damage by letting Romulus burn in that supernova, he has to then create a new splinter universe by dropping the ball with that red matter. You were a mistake, Captain. Your father was never meant to die at your birth, you were never meant to grow up as you did, Nero was never meant to destroy Vulcan and the majority of her inhabitants, and you – all of you – were never meant to live this life. You and all you know are a fluke, James. Surely you can see this?"

"If you're saying Destiny screwed up in my personal life, sure, I agree with that," he snapped, a fist coming down on the table to emphasize his point. "But if you're asking if I understand why you think we deserve to be just erased from existence because of someone else's mistakes, then no, I don't understand!"

"To exterminate an entire universe because of the actions of two beings is hardly logical," Spock interjected quietly, infusing calm into the tension as he always did, though Kirk could hear in his voice the fact that he was deeply disturbed.

"You are a splinter universe, not even a shadow of the original," Q insisted, scowling as his apparently self-professedly brilliant explanation was not placidly accepted. "You are not the James Kirk of Earth and Spock of Vulcan that Destiny intended to exist."

"You're dead right, I'm not your James Kirk!" he shouted, heedless of the fact that he was supposedly in a library. "I am a different man – not a better one, but I am different – and that does not give you the right to destroy my universe, just because you and your precious Continuum think we're a fluke of Time distortion! I didn't save my world just to have you decide it isn't worthy to exist!"

He wasn't sure, because his pulse was pounding in his ears in the buzzing rise of growing panic, but he could have sworn he heard Spock mutter some sort of protest regarding _different_ being directly related to _better_. Q was on his feet as well, looking across the table at him with arms folded.

"What gives you the right to decide my universe is unworthy to exist?" he finally asked with more calmness, realizing he would get nowhere with an Omnipotent by losing control. He slowly resumed his seat.

Q remained standing, but began to pace nervously in a circle, gesticulating wildly to prove his point. "It is not about right, James; this is about practicality. Throughout history, mortals have taken care of this problem on a smaller scale by your disgustingly barbaric histories of world wars, nuclear devastation, genocides, and other atrocious acts indicative of your primitive states. Our decisions are no different; they must be made, for the good of many."

"That didn't answer my question, Q." He looks, long and hard, at the being across from him. "You came to me for a reason, you told me of this for a reason, you are still trying to explain this, for a reason." Q was silent. "Why me – why us?" he asked quietly. "Why did you decide to come to us? Why tell us about this?"

The being turned toward him, and snapped his fingers over the table.

A projection screen appeared, a holo-image of a barely-remembered face appearing, an aristocratic bearing and appearance facing off against Q himself in a private briefing room that looked familiar and yet not.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard," Q explained, eyes flicking over to Spock, who was watching silently. (2)

_"Do you not have someone else to vent your obnoxious energy upon, Q?" the elder man was speaking, annoyance ringing clearly in his cultured voice._

_"Of course I could turn my attentions to your people, Mon Capitaine (3). But you've always frowned upon that, you know. I never will forgive you for not letting me join you as a member of your crew."_

_"My heart is breaking for your damaged ego," Picard replied dryly, ignoring the wounded look he received._

_After a few minutes of awkward silence, in which the Omnipotent tried unsuccessfully to distract the seasoned captain from his work, the being sighed dramatically and rose, transforming himself into the drab clothing and sharp features of a Romulan._

_"Then I suppose I shall take my leave…I have an old friend of yours to check up on, Jean-Luc," he said, slyly glancing back over his shoulder._

_Picard looked up, took in the attire of his conversant. "You are not going to interfere with –"_

_"I, interfere? You surprise me, Jean-Luc," said Q, looking highly miffed. "I have no such motives. Merely that, in a word, I find his ideals and this ridiculous notion he has to unify Vulcan and Romulus to be simply…fascinating."_

_Picard was silent for a moment. With a smirk, Q turned away, but paused when the cultivated accent sounded behind him._

_"Q…he has lost everything. Surely even you would not be so heartless as to –"_

_With a small flash of light, the Romulan clothing was gone, and so was the Omnipotent. But his voice remained in the small briefing room, falling laughingly through the air._

_"Yes, of course, Jean-Luc, I will 'keep an eye on him for you.'"_

The scene and the projection screen disappeared silently, and he glanced over at Spock, who only raised an eyebrow at him.

"I could have prevented the Romulan star from going nova," Q said, shrugging easily. "I did not, and therefore underestimated the lengths a desperate Vulcan might go to attempt to save an unsalvageable situation. The poor fool never did learn how to gamble as well as his deceased captain."

"So you're warning us our universe is about to be dissolved, out of some weird little sense of Omnipotent guilt?" he asked, incredulous.

Q snorted, his sober air dissipating as if it had never fallen. "Certainly not," he declared with a noise of disgust.

"What, then?" Spock asked, one hand twitching in the closest he would ever come to a gesture of impatience.

Q lowered his voice, as if dramatically intimating they might have eavesdroppers. "Because I've been authorized to, and I'm willing to, offer you a chance."

Riiight. "A chance?"

"A chance to save your world, James Tiberius Kirk – a chance to prove you are a better captain than that which Destiny ordained to exist; and that because of that, you and your universe deserve to remain." 

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Three**  
(1) TOS Kirk's real-paper booklove is canon, as seen in TWOK. That's one characteristic I've chosen to remain constant in both universes.

(2) Again, for non-TNG fans, Q is from the time period of Captain Picard, the time period of the Enterprise-D. Ambassador Spock was, at this time, on Romulus, undercover in an attempt to gradually push Romulus toward a unification with Vulcan.

(3) Popular misconception has this phrase spelled as "Mon Capitan," which in true French is incorrect. (PGF speaks it, so she should know. :P)


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

"And why, exactly, would you give us this 'chance'?" Spock inquired, cutting through the pretty words straight to motive.

"More importantly, why would you give _us_ this chance, and not someone else – _anyone_ else – in the galaxy?" Kirk demanded, returning to his original question.

"To answer your query first, Captain…" a snap of fingers, and an old-fashioned pull-down blackboard appeared behind the Omnipotent. A piece of chalk popped into existence in his hand, and the next moment a series of mathematical scribbles and diagrams sketched into place on the board. "You are perhaps unaware that in each Primary Universe there exist certain universal constants."

"Destiny," Kirk said flatly, and the being nodded, applauding as to a prize pupil.

Beside him, Spock closed his eyes, obviously refraining from rolling them at the accursed word.

"Quite so. Certain keystone people or events that, should something happen to them, will change the course of history forever. Your parent universe's James Kirk discovered that with a woman named Edith Keeler, your Ambassador Spock discovered it with the destruction of Romulus's primary sun, and so on."

The blackboard morphed into a vid-screen, suddenly flashing up last year's publicity holo-photo of the _Enterprise_'s re-launch under Kirk's command, and then zeroing in on the command team, Kirk and Spock foremost in a pose which the reporters had described as 'daring and heroic' and Bones had described as 'lookin' like a couple of idiot superheros' and Spock had said was illogically misleading regarding their normal stance and facial expression and blah blah blah; by that point he'd tuned out his First's disgruntled mutterings. (1)

"You and your First Officer are two of those universal constants," Q informed him, in a tone of voice that basically said _Universal Constants_ was synonymous with _gargantuan pains in the posterior_ to the Omnipotent.

"It is not logical, that two people of two worlds should be, as you put it, universally constant in all universes, and that crucial events of history should hinge upon them. The odds against those two forces discovering such a fact, locating each other, and cooperating to commit the events you mention, are astronomical." Spock's voice was devoid of inflection, almost doggedly stubborn-sounding.

"And yet, here you are, gentlemen," was Q's pointed reply, accompanied by another holo-photo flashing up on the screen of the two of them presiding over a chess board in a deserted rec room (and they'd definitely never had a picture taken of that sort, so it was either a brilliant fake or the Omnipotent really could know all).

"You'll forgive my First Officer his skepticism," Kirk staved off another tirade against Destiny with a quick gesture, "but I agree in part with him. You can't expect us to believe that we're so important to the entire universe that you came to _us_ over this."

"You do not believe you are crucial to your universe, in any universe?"

"Not really." Kirk shrugged, rubbed a hand over his chin in thought. "Anyone could have done what we've done."

"Yes," Q agreed, "anyone could have. But the thing is, James Kirk, that no one _did_. In any universe, including all your parallel ones."

His throat went dry.

An image morphed into focus on the screen; an _Enterprise_, broken and battered, her sleek and brand-new nacelles shattered and lifeless, no more than plasma-charred debris floating in the deathly stillness of space. "In this splinter universe, events leading up to the Battle of Vulcan remained the same." Q assumed a lecturing post, gesturing with a pointer that had magically appeared in his hand. "But the _wunderkind_ didn't grab you and Hikaru Sulu from thin air at the last second in the Transporter, and your Vulcan Acting Captain didn't get the High Council of Vulcan out in time. The _Enterprise_ remained in orbit too long trying to retrieve you, and got sucked into the edges of the gravity well before the tiny black hole collapsed, taking Vulcan and most of the wreckage of your 'Fleet with it."

He felt his face drain of color.

The screen changed, and he fought down a wave of nausea. Fields of half-rotted grain, festering in an open sun. "In this universe, radiation from the _Kelvin_ warp engine explosion caused your infant immune system even more problems than you currently fight, leaving you far too weak to survive Tarsus IV thirteen years later. Your Commander, after Captain Pike's capture, led the _Enterprise_ back to the Laurentian system to rendezvous with the remainder of the 'Fleet. Nero destroyed Earth and her entire Sol system, and two months later the 'Fleet were utterly annihilated." (2)

He glanced at Spock, whose eyes were blanking out completely as he withdrew to deal with the aftermath involved with this memory-resurrection – but not before Kirk had seen in dismay the horrified flicker in their depths at the Omnipotent's disclosure of the previously unmentioned Tarsus colony. Boy, was he going to have some explaining to do later…

Q continued, mercilessly pulling up a picture of a Vulcan desert at evening, at the time when the beautiful T'Khut was in its closest proximity, the more distant shimmer of Delta Vega twinkling icily nearby. Jim was glad when Spock finally closed his eyes.

"In this universe, Spock, your mother died in difficult childbirth. Never truly knowing why you were different from other Vulcans, and never having the benefit of learning about humanity in general, you never joined Starfleet and were rejected from both the Vulcan Science Academy and the acolytes of Gol over a hopeless lack of emotional control. Friendless and bereft of any self-confidence, you left Vulcan to drift aimlessly among the planets of the galaxy, finding scientific work where you could and when you could as an outcast renegade. When Nero appeared, he met no resistance from an unprepared Vulcan, and because Cadet Kirk was grounded on academic suspension the _Enterprise_ warped into a trap along with the rest of the 'Fleet."

He'd had enough and he was quite sure Spock had too, judging from the tension radiating from his First, but Q continued, pointing at another slide – a massive space battle.

"In this universe, events were identical until Nero was above Earth and you two beamed aboard the _Narada_. Your Montgomery Scott did the best to beam you into the cargo bay, but he beamed you straight into a squad of Romulan guards. You were both killed upon beaming in, and _Enterprise_ was destroyed by Nero when it attempted to keep him from lowering the drill upon Earth. Terra imploded twenty minutes later. After six months of battling the invincible Nero, the rest of the galaxy drew together – Cardassian, Tellarite, Klingon, Romulan, Orion, Betazoid, and all remaining Humanoids, anyone left living after his rampage of destruction – in one final attempt to defeat him." Q stopped, and folded his arms, looking pointedly at both of them. "They failed. Two Klingon warbirds, a Cardassian freighter carrying dark matter, and a Romulan science vessel performed a suicide crash into the _Narada_'s cargo bay, triggering the detonation of the red matter. The ensuing black hole, enhanced by the radiation from four detonating warp cores and the expulsion of the dark matter, became the largest anomaly your universe has ever seen, and literally tore the fabric of the galaxy apart, moving from there to engulf the entire universe and all life within it – in a matter of _nine months_."

"Enough," Kirk managed to find his voice after several more images had flashed up on the screen in preparation for Q to continue. Spock looked up, his expression unreadable.

"No, it is not enough," Q replied, though the screen and its visual aids disappeared. "In each case, each splinter universe which was created the moment Nero left my Prime Universe and warped the fabric of the space-time continuum – in each one, the known sentience-inhabited universe destroyed itself because of one wrong decision or one wrong move that hinged upon one or both of the two of _you_. I could give you countless examples. Yours, and the other parallel universes of this one splinter universe, are the only ones that have survived, much to our surprise."

"And yet, you will destroy us."

"Because we haven't yet destroyed ourselves as you had hoped, saving you the trouble," Kirk finished, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his gut over the idea that somewhere out there existed a Destiny so cruel as to let these things take their course, knowing the inevitable outcome.

"Don't take it personally, friend James," Q patted him on the shoulder in commiseration. "If it makes you feel any better, all universes are subject to this principle."

"That they must prove they are worthy to exist, or be extinguished?"

"Would you prefer we select at _random_ those to eliminate, not based upon any worthy characteristics, Spock?"

"Negative."

"Then the process of permitting them to prove their worth is, in a word…logical."

Spock winced – something Jim had never seen before – but said nothing.

"What do you expect us to do, then? We've had a year since Nero to prove ourselves. That's not good enough for your precious Continuum?" he demanded, bristling at the care-less attitude of this Omnipotent.

"One year is not sufficient time to make a judgment call – and besides, dear captain," Q continued, giving him a longsuffering look, "don't flatter yourself. Yours isn't the only universe we have to monitor, for galaxies' sake. You're just next on the list right now."

"An extermination list. And you call _us_ barbaric," he spat, shoving his chair back and rising to pace the length of the room.

The being looked highly offended. "It is not an extermination list – have you listened to nothing I've said? You're being put on trial, James. If you pass the tests, you will save your universe."

"And if I fail, you'll destroy everything in my universe. Where is the justice in that?"

"No one said this was about justice. This is about survival, Captain James I-don't-believe-in-no-win-scenarios Kirk, and if you want to survive you will at least attempt to cooperate!"

He flicked a quick look at Spock. _Trust me?_ His eyes pled silently, and he received a barely-perceptible nod in return.

He turned back to the figure across the table, and then shook his head, slumping back into his chair with a gesture of resignation. "No deal."

"Deal? What deal?" Q towered over them, hands thrown up in the air in exasperation.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're offering me nothing other than non-interference if I can beat Destiny itself. I lose against what's already been pre-ordained, and my universe is annihilated. I beat it, and nothing happens. I don't call that a good bargain, Q, and I don't believe Destiny is something you can beat at its own game. Again, no deal. You might as well destroy us now, before we have time to panic about it."

Q's eyes went comically wide. "Are you insane? After all I've told you, you're just going to sit there and accept it?"

"After all you've told me?" he snorted derisively. "Let's see, what have you told me – that we're a fluke of Time, that my success in defeating Nero was more luck than skill, that I'm never going to measure up to your Prime Universe, and that basically Starfleet chose me as captain because there just literally wasn't anybody else?" Blue eyes rolled toward the domed ceiling. "You haven't told me anything I didn't already know, Q."

Beside him, he felt Spock stiffen toward the end of his haphazard list. "Captain, you –"

"Not now," he growled under his breath, because he really didn't want to hear what, if anything, Spock disagreed with him on. "I'm well aware that my life isn't conforming to your precious Destiny's intentions," he shot back at a still-stunned Q, "and that the only real reason I am captain is because Starfleet is built on politics. I'm a pretty face for the recruitment posters, a famous name for diplomatic functions, and a convenient scapegoat of 'the irresponsibility of youth' if something goes wrong – and not much else. If you intended to break my heart with your prophecies of how messed up my universe is, you'll have to do something other than restate what everyone already knows. Seriously." (3)

Q finally found his voice, evidently, but Kirk saw with a gleam of interest that the being seemed to be thoroughly taken aback at his acceptance. Interesting. "Then you are simply giving up? Sitting on the sidelines while your universe simply implodes? Admitting there _is_ such a thing as a no-win scenario?"

"I don't say there's any such thing," he replied, eyes hardening. "But sometimes the only way out of a no-win situation is to change the parameters of the situation's rules."

Q cocked an interested eyebrow at him, silently beckoning him to continue.

He shook his head with a gesture of dismissal, but eyed Q's reaction from his peripheral. "Forget it. Just get us back to the _Enterprise_ so we can say goodbye to people before you and your pretty little godlings destroy our universe?"

The Omnipotent frowned. A moment later a new, steaming mug of coffee appeared at the young captain's elbow, and he almost laughed at the transparent bribery.

He drank it instead, for all appearances resigned to Q's declaration of impending doom.

"You cannot be serious about simply not making any effort at all to save your universe, James," the being voiced at last, and Jim was positive now that he heard slight uncertainty in the tone. Obviously this guy was unaccustomed to being crossed, unused to finding someone he couldn't manipulate or at least get to fight back.

Fortunately for them, he grew up all his life manipulating people. Why was a demi-god any different?

"Q, give me one good reason why I should? If Destiny already has dictated that the James Kirk of your universe is the Perfect Ideal, then she's already messed up my own universe long ago. Why should I bother to try to salvage an already disadvantaged universe by some ridiculous test you set up to see if I'll meet the Almighty-Standard-of-Captaincy you seem to have stuck in your back pocket somewhere?"

The being blinked in obvious surprise. "You do not care enough for your universe to make the attempt?"

"Oh, I'll attempt it all right," he admitted, "because it's the only thing to do. But you can't expect me to make it a very…_entertaining_ attempt. You know." He saluted the being with his mug before finishing the last drink of the strong brew.

A suspicious gleam had sprung up in the Omnipotent's eye. "Elucidate, my dear captain," said he, snapping his fingers and producing a comfortable easy chair to sit in.

"Well." Kirk shrugged, pretending disinterest. "Just from the fact that you've wasted over an hour telling us basically the same thing over and over, I get the vibe that you don't really want to see us destroyed without a fair chance."

"Again, don't flatter yourself, pretty boy," was the dry reply.

"Thanks," he leered, and his opponent rolled his eyes. "But I'm not; I think it's galling you that we're taking this as well as we are. Don't you omnipotent beings thrive on causing panic and high emotional currents, don't you get your entertainment from battles of mental prowess? Isn't it true that the more brilliant the mind, the greater the need for unusual distraction? Isn't that why you're _here_, warning us, instead of just snapping your fingers and snuffing us out of existence from the safety of your own universe?"

Q's feet, which had been propped lazily on the edge of the conference table, slowly lowered to the carpeted floor.

He pressed on, smiling predatorily. "Wouldn't it make it more…entertaining, for you to watch, if we put up a decent fight against your so-called impossible scenario with Destiny? Is all you really want for me to just hang the white flag and accept the Inevitable…or do you want me to say _bring it on_ and fight it when you actually do?"

Q's eyes glinted, and the library disappeared around them, dissolving into the familiar crisp, clean whiteness of the Enterprise Bridge.

He ignored his startled crew's exclamations of relief, and focused on the being in front of him – now garbed in some ridiculous Terran ancient military regalia, ornately-gleaming sword extended with the handle toward him over a small table on which stood an inkwell and blank paper. He eyed the combination with utter cluelessness, until Q spoke.

"State your terms, Captain, and I shall consider them."

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Four**  
(1) I know the first time we see Spock aboard the Enterprise is just before she launches, but frankly I don't see how Starfleet would have let them have the green light for launch without a First Officer. In my opinion, and what I think is really backed up by the lack of surprise from everyone, Kirk knew (either off the record or on) that Spock was coming aboard as First Officer. It would have been a major event, and I don't think the 'Fleet would have allowed it to be publicized minus an important figure.  
(2) While I think Tarsus IV is far overused as a cliché and plot device (see TOS's _Conscience of the King, _btw, if you don't get the reference), it fits with what I have here and so I'm (very cautiously) using it. It will be no more than a minor reference, however.  
(3) And again, I'm speculating here, but I think I have decent grounds practically and psychologically for what I say. The AOS would have been a harsh reality to live in after the Battle of Vulcan. You don't hand your flagship over to a bunch of barely-graduated cadets – no matter how brilliant these kids were, they were still kids without any practical command experience – if there's a viable alternative. They were given the _Enterprise_ because of a lack of personnel, and that's the only logical conclusion. If something went wrong, the Fleet could blame it on the children's ship, and the crew of the _Enterprise_ would have been excellent material for recruitment posters, since they would have been in desperate need of fresh recruits after losing the majority of their cadets. It's a matter of practicality, not of some genius, brilliant child prodigy taking command of a flagship. Had Kirk been given the _Enterprise_ just because they thought he was more than capable, that in my mind would have definitely made his character a Gary Stu. This scenario, in my opinion, makes him much more of a realistic character.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Five_**

"My terms. Really now, Q." Ignoring the being entirely, he moved up the dais to the command center. "Out of my chair, Sulu."

"Yes, sir! Captain, we were worried –"

"Yes, yes. Steer clear of the weirdo with the sword on your way back to your console, okay? Q, for Pete's sake, dispense with the melodrama." He flopped into his chair, noting that Spock was very not-subtly remaining within neck-pinching distance of the deity before them. "At ease, Commander."

Spock's eyebrow clearly said _as if_.

He shrugged, resigned, and turned his attention back toward the stymied Omnipotent, who was proceeding to eliminate the military garb from existence with a wave of the hand. "My terms, Q? What makes you think I have any, or would discuss them with you?"

It was Q's turn to raise eyebrows. "You intimated that we might be able to reach an agreement, friend James."

"An agreement with a resident all-powerful who says he's going to destroy my universe if I don't prove I'm a better captain than some guy who led a different life in a different time and a different universe?" He rolled his eyes. "What do I stand to gain from running your rat race?"

Q's eyes turned dark, glittering in the bright lights of the Bridge. "We might start with the lives of your crew, Captain. _And_ your pretty little ship."

Kirk was grateful his hands were already clenched on the armrests of his chair; it masked the lurching of his nerves at the veiled threat. He forced indifference into his voice. "You're about to annihilate my entire universe, Q. Your threat is redundant." Now wasn't that Spockian-sounding? He was rather proud of it, actually.

"Is it?" Q smiled, and not in a chummy way. "I could turn your ship into a house of madness, send you into Romulan space operating under my control, and trigger war with the Federation due to your actions. Or I could make your crew a biological weapon, and send you into Earth's spacedock to infect it and all neighboring planets. Or," and he continued, warming to the possibilities and completely ignoring the horror-struck faces of the less-informed Bridge crew, "I could simply take your crew, one by one, and subject them to horrors you cannot even imagine, Kirk. And you would watch your precious ship become a deadly weapon against some helpless Federation colony once I am through. Now." Dark eyes met blue. "Is that sufficient incentive?"

Kirk's jaw clenched. One curt nod, and Spock was at the nearest console. "Computer, initiate self-destruct sequence, secondary authorization Spock, First Officer, beta-one-one-zero-one."

_Authorization recognized. Destruct sequence initiated_, came the cheerful computer voice, and Chekov and Sulu stared wide-eyed at each other. _Primary authorization?_ the speaker chirped expectantly.

Kirk opened his mouth.

But before he could speak, laughter broke the tense silence, bubbling in a peal of genuine amusement from the figure currently standing in front of the command chair. "Well played, _mon capitaine_," Q cried, applauding. "So true to form in your _ridiculously_ impulsive and heroic way." The captain bristled silently, for the words sounded more like an endearment than an insult and he didn't like the idea. "Shut the sequence down, Vulcan," Q continued, another ripple of mirth shaking his grinning features. "Your captain can bluff with the best of them. I have other plans for you and your ship."

"Captain?"

Kirk flicked him a grateful look. "Shut it down, Spock."

_Self-destruct aborted_, the computer informed them after Spock's fingers had flitted briefly over the controls.

"Now that I've passed _that_ test, what else've you got, or was that the best you can do?" Kirk asked dryly.

Q waved a finger in front of his nose. "That was only a pop quiz, James. You will not know the test when you see it; yet you must pass it just the same, and your First Officer must pass his as well. What fun would there be in telling you what material to study?"

"What logic would there be in giving a test without informing the student in at least general terms of its subject matter?"

"Says the man who programmed a supposedly _unbeatable_ exam," the being snorted, shooting the Vulcan an amused look.

Spock looked _ticked_.

Jim tried not to laugh, badly though he wanted to. "Okay, so you're going to test me somehow, and I won't know what or when. Got it. Now back to our original discussion…my terms?"

"Ah, yes. Your terms."

"You're going to have to offer me something more valuable than part of what I'll lose anyway if I fail – otherwise you've got exactly squat to bargain with here, Q," he threw out, carelessly inspecting a hangnail on his left thumb. "You want me to give you a show you won't forget easily, you're going to have to offer me something more than what's already in the deal as part of the price for losing."

The Omnipotent looked suddenly wary. "I suppose you already had something in mind?" he asked sarcastically. "What is it, a sense of humor? Or maybe someone in the 'Fleet who doesn't see you as just a baby-faced propaganda weapon or George Kirk's delinquent son?"

"Oh, that one cut _deep_, Q. I'm _crying_ on the inside. Uhura, do we have any disposawipes on the Bridge?"

"I could call Medical and have them send you up some, Captain," she replied, entirely straight-faced. "And possibly a tranquilizer for the hyperactive quasi-deity."

"Forsooth, a maiden with a tongue of fire!" the being exclaimed, eyes shooting daggers at the snickering Bridge crew.

Uhura smiled sweetly and flipped him a gesture that meant the same thing in any of the seventy-three languages she knew.

Evidently the Omnipotents spoke _ancient Terran vulgar_, because Q's face reddened.

Kirk choked back a wet snort of laughter and settled for winking at his amazing Comm Chief before turning back to the scowling being standing way too close to his chair. "Ante up, Q. What've you got to offer me in return for being your free entertainment for the next few days?"

The being muttered something that sounded like _Jean-Luc was never so uncouth_ and then glared at him. "What, exactly, were you thinking I should offer you, James? Choose wisely."

"Well let's see." He wriggled down comfortably in his chair, ignoring the fact that Q was towering over him in an attempt to intimidate him or something. Sure. He smirked up at the looming figure. "Q, I want an edge."

Q blinked. "An edge."

"An edge." He sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "If my universe is as 'handicapped' as you say it is compared to what Destiny ordained before she dropped the ball, then I think if we pass your tests we deserve an edge that our 'parent universe' didn't have. Don't you think that's fair, Mr. Spock?"

Spock glared at him, a clear _you are insane. Sir. _ hanging in the air for a moment before silently dropping to the deck.

He beamed. "See, Spock agrees with me. It's only fair that you give us some sort of advantage if we win, since we're so handicapped in the first place, Q. Or were you _lying_ about that bit?"

Q glowered, apparently outraged. "Omnipotents do not lie."

"Riiiiight, and neither do Vulcans," he snorted. "We all know how that goes. So out with it, your pseudo-godliness. You going to give us an edge if we win, or do we simply disregard your doom and gloom and party while we can for the days we have left?"

The being stood still, arms folded in a human gesture of irritation. "An edge," Q repeated thoughtfully. "Yes…yes, I believe that could be arranged…but you must pass the tests in every particular, James Kirk."

"And you must follow through, in every detail."

"And your First Officer must pass his portion of the test as well."

"And you must agree in every detail what we get out of it, so there can be no reneging on the deal," Kirk said pointedly.

Q's smile was edged. "You have a bargain. Shall we draw up the agreement?"

"Not until you specify the advantage you're promising us, and let my First Officer examine it for loopholes," he retorted.

The Omnipotent looked elaborately around the gleaming Bridge and her stunned officers. "I'm not feeling the love and trust here, people," said he plaintively.

Kirk snorted. "What is this, Peter Pan? Pixie dust and faith have no place in Starfleet. Now, about what we get if we win. Uhura, there are to be no transmissions off this ship of any kind until I give the order. Sulu, the conn. Spock, Q, with me; Briefing Room Th-"

"-ree," he finished, and scowled at the interior of his briefing room. "What, the turbolift isn't good enough for Omnipotents?"

Q flung himself crossly into the captain's chair at the head of the table and then scrambled back up again. "What horrid ergonomics," he grumbled, and snapped his fingers. The chair changed into a cushy marshmallow-like seat with a built-in ottoman.

Spock gave his captain The Look, Version Six, the one that said _you got us into this, you get us out,_ and primly seated himself as far away from the being as he could get.

Kirk snapped his fingers impatiently. "Well, out with it. I have a ship to run, and a test to pass, Q."

Q yawned elaborately, waving a hand in a lazy circle. "All right, all right – an edge, an advantage that your parent universe never got. What do you want, a time travel device? Because I won't give you one."

"Nothing that drastic, necessarily," he replied. "_Some_ of us have moral issues with tampering in other people's lives at any time or place."

"Fascinating idea, morals," the being murmured around another yawn, eyes closed. "Must be highly inconvenient for your human desires."

Perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea to antagonize a deity (even a dubiously-qualified one), but then again he never had been one to take the less dramatic course of action.

He walked up behind the being and promptly dumped the marshmallow chair over on its side, sending its occupant sprawling.

"What rude little savages you people are!" the being cried, outraged, as he righted himself.

"You'd better believe it." His grin was not at all pleasant. "My _edge_, Q."

"Oh, very well." Q dusted himself off with a huff, eyeing a small rend in the uniform fabric with obvious distaste. Finally he looked up at the captain, eyes gleaming. "I'll tell you what I will give you, James Kirk. If you pass the tests, and your universe remains intact as we promise, then I will give you one thing."

He folded his arms, waiting.

"If you win, I will return to you, to your universe, any one deceased person whom you choose," Q said quietly.

His stomach dropped out from under him, and judging from the look in Spock's eyes, even Vulcans weren't immune to the feeling of _if-he-said-what-I-think-he-said-I-might-be-sick-everywhere _as well.

"That…wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Kirk finally said slowly, once time had resumed its course and he had found his voice again.

"Then you decline the offer?"

"No!" The quick response brought a raised eyebrow from the Omnipotent, and he hastily schooled his features into a more calm expression. "No," he repeated, "you just took me by surprise, is all."

"Well, is that good enough for you then?" Q demanded, completely unfazed by his stunned expression. "A good enough edge for you, something worth fighting for?"

"To resurrect the dead is a highly immoral action," Spock finally, for lack of a better word, _spat_ out.

Q flicked him a cool glance. "Again, you assign a mortal sense of morals to an Omnipotent, Vulcan. I care nothing for your sense of propriety; you humans' superstition, James, has always been amusing in its insistence that the dead are somehow sacred, by virtue of their simply being deceased. Utter nonsense. And besides," he continued, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes, "your warped Destiny has already claimed several billion lives that were never supposed to be lost, Spock…how is it in any way immoral even by your pathetic mortal standards to return to life that which was taken innocently?"

Spock was silent.

"You of all people should know, gentlemen, how very different your universe would be were certain people to be alive rather than dead in it."

Up until now, Kirk had taken little notice of this annoyance in the form of a demi-god; but that hit far too close to the heart for comfort – and Q knew it, he could see from the being's smug expression.

"If you pass your test, James Kirk, you will be permitted to choose one person in the universe to return to life; whom you choose will in part determine your future destiny." Q smiled, held out a hand. "Do we have a bargain, Captain?"

"On one condition," he finally said, all traces of levity gone in the face of this staggering information.

"Name it."

"That my First Officer chooses instead of me."

"Captain?" Spock's face had gone another shade of pale, if that was possible, and utter astonishment showed clearly in his eyes.

"I trust Mr. Spock's judgment, and his sense of morality, implicitly. If I am to disrupt the moral balance of my universe with such a decision, he is the more suited to make that decision unbiased by human emotion or prejudice," he continued, speaking to Q but with his eyes on the Vulcan sitting opposite them.

Spock looked at him in barely-veiled wonder, followed by a clenching of eyebrows and tensing of posture as he realized just what he was going to have to do.

"Agreed," Q cried cheerfully, as if he had not just given away a life. "Now, gentlemen –"

"A moment," Spock interjected. "Q, we have only your word that you are who you claim to be, and that you are capable of the things you say you are."

"Oh, please," the being sighed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Must you petty mortals always require visible proof?"

"No, he's right," Kirk added sternly. "How am I supposed to know that you're really knowledgeable about me and my universe?"

Q's smile was malicious. "I know _everything_ about you, James Tiberius Kirk. _Everything_."

And suddenly he wasn't in the briefing room anymore – the walls disappeared, wavering into the chilled wisps of clouds and winds, the durasteel flooring morphing into absolute…nothingness.

He dropped.

He was falling, free-falling, straight out of the sky toward a rocky, barren planet surface that looked horribly familiar, without the security of a parachute, without even the protective suit he had worn during the drill platform-jump in the Battle of Vulcan, without so much as a coherent thought to drown out the utter terror that suddenly destroyed his mind and senses, wrenched a desperate cry from his lips as the rocky pinnacle of a desert mountain stabbed jaggedly up to meet him. He was falling, __ –

He was braced to hit the rocky ground but struck against cold durasteel instead, palms splayed on the cool flooring and slapping so hard the shock jarred his arms all the way into his shoulders. He vaguely realized he was teetering on the edge of hyperventilating, gasping for thin oxygen that would dispel the cloud of terror that had been wrenched out of his subconscious mind.

Finally he lifted his head, panting slightly. Q stood leaning against the nearest wall, idly observing the scene.

Spock was on his feet, both hands outstretched as if pressing against an invisible wall before him – come to think of it, that's probably just what he was doing – and with an expression as close to concern as a Vulcan could ever come creasing his face with lines of uncertainty.

"I was correct, obviously," Q observed complacently. "And you can stop with the death-looks, Commander." A snap of fingers, and Spock lurched forward as the invisible barrier disappeared. "He has not been harmed. But you developed a fear of heights after the events of the Battle of Vulcan, Captain, did you not."

He'd see Q in whatever hell Omnipotents might frequent before he'd admit that, thanks very much.

"Nooo," he drew out the syllable as he regained his feet, breathing heavily. Self-deprecating braggadocio, his weapon of choice, was his first recourse in any situation. "Not really afraid of heights, Q. Of falling _off_ them, yes." Spock's tense stance relaxed at the quip, his lips quirking at one side ever-so-slightly. Then he whirled on his opponent.

"Was such a demonstration quite necessary?" the Vulcan demanded.

Q shrugged. "You did not believe. And I do seem to recall it was you, Commander, who first asked for proof."

"An action which I now regret," was the next grouchy (yes, Vulcans definitely did grouchy, Kirk knew that well from experience with one in particular) mutter.

"Perhaps I should also demonstrate that I am quite capable of bringing back to life the person of your choosing, gentlemen?" Q suddenly inquired, raising a hand.

Kirk's heart stuttered in half horror, half longing, but he shook his head. "Not necessary," he snapped before Spock could formulate a response.

"You are quite sure?" Q asked. "You are aware I meant anyone, at any time in your history, correct?"

He nodded slowly.

Ruthlessly, Q continued, ticking off the points on the fingers of one hand. "Meaning your father, at the age he was when the _Kelvin_ was destroyed…or possibly that little Riley boy you so cared for on Tarsus before the famine grew too severe for the littlest ones to survive?" (1)

Jim went white to the lips, and furtively reached for the back of the closest chair in a death-grip for control.

If his hand landed on a blue sleeve instead, no one made mention of it.

"Or perhaps that sweet little Orion girl from the Academy, hmm?" the Omnipotent continued, glancing slyly at the pale human over his animated gestures. "She was on the _Farragut_, wasn't she, while your precious Destiny made sure that Leonard McCoy smuggled you onto the _Enterprise_?"

His hand spasmed on Spock's arm. "_Enough_," he heard the Vulcan command sharply, all pretense at friendly sparring with this individual having long since been banished.

"I merely wanted you to think of the chance I am offering you, Spock of Vulcan," Q replied, voice deceptively soft. "Need I name for you six billion names, any one of which you could choose? Including –"

"_Don't_." The single word was hissed with enough venom to metaphorically kill anything that moved. Even Q blinked, eyeing the furious features of the captain with incredulity. Kirk released his grip, color spotting back into his face as he spat the next words out. "That will _do_, Q. Whether I believe you or not, I have a job to do and you are not a part of it. I want you off my ship, and out of my crew's lives. _Now_."

"Perhaps I don't want to leave," the being sighed plaintively. "I rather like it here."

Kirk stepped forward, hands clenched until the knuckles turned white. His voice was dangerously low. "Get. Off. My. Ship."

Q gave them a tolerant smile. "You have one week, gentlemen. Choose wisely each decision you make, James Kirk; for if you do not prove to be a better captain than your Prime Universe predecessor, your universe is forfeit."

And with that, the being vanished, leaving only an echo of mocking laughter behind him.

Kirk stood, fairly vibrating with anger, until he regained control of himself and visibly pulled his fury back under the calm façade of a Starfleet captain. Spock had seen the transformation many times, and it never failed to amaze him in this particular human.

"Well, that wasn't your run-of-the-mill conversation with the villain of the week, now was it?"

"I believe the appropriate human phrase is – that is the understatement of the century."

Kirk dropped wearily into a chair, the forced levity dissipating dismally. "How…how in the world am I going to prove that I am a more capable captain than Old Spock's James Kirk?" he asked to no one in particular, for he was well aware there was no real answer. "There's no way!"

"You will find one." The rash promise was so utterly illogical that he couldn't help but grin at the earnest expression on Spock's face.

"Will I, now."

"Unless you are simply going to give up."

He grinned wolfishly. "Never."

"As I thought. However, I will admit to being at a loss as to how we shall best defeat this entity's power over us and pass his tests," Spock mused, all-but-frowning down at the table.

Okay, so maybe he could do this after all. Somehow. Some way. There had to be something – heh.

He smirked.

"You're overlooking the one thing that Q apparently forgot, Spock."

A raised eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

A grin slowly spread across his face, relaxing its tension at long last. "I'm a _cheater_, Commander. You should know."

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Five**  
(1) Again, a reference to the TOS _Conscience of the King_; differences in the universes being that Riley survived in the TOS universe.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter Six_**

Starfleet Command's orders could not be ignored or postponed, universe-on-the-line or no, and so they continued on their way to investigate the unrest reported on the colonized planetoids orbiting Cerulea (yes, some idiot in 'Fleet's Exploratory Sciences was not overly original, as it was a giant blue star). Each small planet had been colonized, for experiment's sake, with a team from one of the planets in the Federation's alliances. The seven satellites had seven colonies, seven separate species depending on the planetoids' differing temperatures and atmospheres, and there had been much good-natured competition for years among all seven.

Recently, however, they had been receiving reports regarding an outbreak of a deadly virus on the second and third planets, which threatened to incapacitate and even decimate two-thirds of the planetoids' populations. Romulans were suspected, but more because they were always the first ones suspected due to Nero's rampage; and the virus killed within minutes without medical treatment, apparently contracted through inhalation as far as the Federation colonists could determine. Relations between the Federation and Romulus, despite a representative meeting in which the Romulan High Council declaimed Nero as no citizen of theirs, were extremely strained, and had grown no friendlier in the year since the Battle of Vulcan. (1)

And of course, if you're sending one of your remaining five galaxy-class starships into a dangerous situation, you're going to send the _Enterprise_. (2)

James Kirk sent up another fervent wish that it took less time than three years to construct a ship the size of the _Enterprise_; even twelve months later, the 'Fleet had not recovered from being decimated by Nero's attack on Vulcan. As a result, his ship had been sent hither and yon on the most trying and sometimes ridiculous of missions, simply because they were one of five remaining starships in the entire galaxy. His crew had, through intense trial and error, become a brilliantly-cohesive whole in just a short time, and while they were indeed little more than cadets they had grown up before their time and were slowly throwing off that derisive stigma of being children playing with the Federation's flagship.

As for Kirk himself, he was quite aware that he was little more to Starfleet than a propaganda weapon and a convenient scapegoat when things got too tense, but he was still James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ and savior of Earth, thank you very much, and Starfleet could _shove_ their pat-the-good-boy-on-the-head condescension when it flared in communications and censures. Maybe the James Kirk of Old Spock's universe had been a brilliant leader in his own right, and had fought his way to the top through the usual channels.

Splinter-universe Jim Kirk had just skipped a few grades, so to speak.

_Take that, Destiny_, he thought with a smirk, as he sent Spock off to the Bridge to oversee their progress toward establishing reliable contact with the Cerulean system.

His First had, true to form, not questioned his request to take the conn for the remaining two hours of the shift, but he could see Spock was curious about the request. They both needed time to assimilate what Q had told them, but that wasn't the reason he asked Spock to assume command. There was just something disturbing about talking to the Ambassador about his other self, and he didn't need to add double paradoxical weirdness to the mess by letting Spock eavesdrop.

Besides, it was technically considered cheating. Asking Old Spock how he might be able to improve upon the supposedly perfect Captain Kirk of the other universe didn't technically break any rules, since Q hadn't set up any. Right? (Just like reprogramming the Kobayashi Maru didn't break the rules, since the only rule was to do whatever needed to be done, to the best of your ability, to pass the test. Supposedly. He knew better, thanks to his insufferable Professor-turned-First Officer.)

Whatever. Right or wrong, he was doing it anyway.

It took about half an hour for the Ambassador to be able to take his vid-call. The elderly man's eyes lit up in that adorably unVulcan way he wished his Spock would unbend enough to show too, though a question hid in their brown depths.

"Yeah, I know we just talked to you yesterday, but there's been a…complication?" he ventured, after the usual greetings had been exchanged.

Old Spock (yes, he was going to keep thinking of him like that, if the guy didn't mind) raised a familiar eyebrow. "With…?"

"You know anything about a guy named Q? Tall, dark, and omnipotent?"

The startled blink was clue enough; he could read Vulcan well enough to get that. "Q." The syllable was uttered with a bitter tinge, and the older man looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to the vid-screen. "Yes, Jim. I do know of him."

He still couldn't get over how fuzzy it made him feel to hear his name instead of his title; if he could just coax his Spock into doing it more often he might listen a little more to the guy's constant yammering about regulations. Heck, he might even start obeying them when they were quoted…

_Back on track, Jim_, he thought, yanking his attention back to the vid-screen and leaning back in his chair. "Great! Then he really is an Omnipotent?"

"Unfortunately for the mortals he decides to torment, yes," the ambassador sighed. "He seemed to show little interest in my captain in our early years, but in later decades his attention seemed to be fixated upon the _Enterprise_-D and her captain, Jean-Luc Picard. Captain Picard was…a good man." High praise, if simplistically stated; he recognized the unspoken for what it was. Picard must have been a decent friend to a lonely old man, too, if he read his Vulcan correctly. "Q is an omnipotent being who delights in using his powers to wreak havoc upon unsuspecting mortals, thereby entertaining himself when he has little to do in fulfilling his purpose in the universe."

"Multiverse, apparently," he corrected, frowning. He rubbed a hand across his chin.

Old Spock shot him a startled look. "You have not –"

"Um…yeah, I have," he muttered, slumping back in the chair. "So the guy shows up on my Bridge this morning, and you know what? Says my universe was a fluke, a mistake, and that we're scheduled to be destroyed because we're taking up valuable space in the multiverse."

Crap, he should have worded that better; the poor old man turned the color of three-day-old oatmeal. Right, right, already lost one universe, doesn't want to lose another one. Stupid move, Jim.

"But we made a deal," he continued hastily, not taking his eyes off the elderly Vulcan.

Nothing, not even an inter-dimensional shift, would change the eyebrow. And some color was returning to the guy's face, too. "Indeed?"

"Indeed," he mimicked, smiling to reassure his friend that he was only teasing. "But…" and he sobered, realizing all of a sudden what he was going to have to ask the guy to do, "…I'm going to need your help, Ambassador." The reproachful look he received reminded him of his own protests to his Spock, and he hastily amended with "…sorry, Spock. Anyhow…I guess technically it's cheating but you're my only real hope here."

His worry must have shown clearly to the practiced eye, because the old man's features softened. "I confess to being greatly troubled by the idea of this being's interference in your universe, Jim…but we have not the time for details of that nature. Tell me how I may assist you?"

Nervous now, he ran a hand through his hair and then poked it back into shape again. "Well…" he hesitated for a moment, then continued. "It's like this. Q said I have a chance to keep the hammer from coming down and blasting us into oblivion – yes, I _know_ it's a mixed metaphor, _deal_ – but the thing is that it's a test for me, I have to pass a test."

"Did he specify what sort of test?"

"Actually, yeah." He steeled his nerve and leaned closer to the vid-image. Nothing like appalling directness, was there? "He…told me if I can prove myself to be a better captain than your Jim Kirk, that that'd be enough to prove my universe worthy to continue. I'm really sorry to ask you something like that," he added sincerely, as the Vulcan's warm eyes betrayed shock, then comprehension, and finally an aching tenderness before all three were squirreled away under a Vulcan mask.

"It is the logical thing to do," was the reply, accompanied by a wry quirk of the lips. "Though I rather believe Q might consider it to be cheating."

"Tough. I hate to ask you, but we only have twenty minutes before we're in approach to the Cerulean system and I'll have to be on the Bridge for I dunno how long. Um…" How the heck was he supposed to ask this? "…do you have any idea how I could possibly prove I'm a better captain than your Jim Kirk? I mean, the guy was like, perfect, wasn't he?"

Spock's eyes flickered in amusement. "Hardly," was the truthful reply, but the levity was tempered with affection.

"Well, that's a relief," he muttered. "But I still can't think of how I would prove I'm a more worthy captain…"

Brown eyes shone. "Your worthiness to be captain of the _Enterprise_ is not in question, Jim; Q is testing your inner character, not your reaction to circumstances. His conflicts with mortals are cerebral; he 'plays the game', so to speak, for the entertainment of seeing into the fascinating minds of those the Continuum decides are central players in any universe's drama."

"My mind isn't all that fascinating." Weirdly interesting, maybe; twisted, definitely – but not fascinating enough to attract the attention of an Omnipotent.

"I assure you, it is, Jim."

Okay, so blushing was totally not cool, specially in front of a guy old enough to be his grandfather. Great-grandfather. Whatever.

Spock was paying him no mind, though, which was good. "I take it the purpose of your call is to see if I can assist you in discovering in what crucial ways you might differ from my universe's counterpart to you?"

"Well…yeah, if you don't mind, and if you can do it without giving me universe-ending information I'm not meant to have," he finally managed, ears slowly turning back from burning scarlet. "I mean, you don't have to tell me stuff he did that wasn't good if you don't want to –"

"I have no objection to telling you anything, Jim, unless the information would alter your destiny in this universe," Old Spock replied, with a kind of complete, quiet acquiescence that was a little adorable if he thought about it for long. "But besides this, since Q has already performed that risk by threatening you, to avail yourself of every resource and to grant you that aid is only logical. Ask what you will; I will hold nothing back from you."

He squirmed a little; asking about yourself, from somebody that obviously still worshipped the ground you – Old You – walked on, was really awkward. But he only had fifteen minutes now, so…

"Well…if you could just…tell me a little about him. His faults, his command style, his diplomacy, whatever you think might give me an idea of how we're different," he suggested.

"His vices…" The ambassador's eyes brightened in amused remembrance. "They were few in number. He was…extremely over-confident. Many called it arrogance, though I believe it was more a defense mechanism than a character trait; his very nature and his ability to command rode very much upon his charisma, and self-confidence was simply an extension of that. My captain was an extremely stubborn man, and when that was coupled with grief un-dealt-with for too long, it resulted in acute prejudices. Against the Klingons mainly, in our universe," he clarified. "The hatred was born over several years, fueled by both sides, until…but that is another story." (2) The Vulcan's eyebrows dipped in memory. "He was prone to keep such a tight rein on his emotions, his controls, his very being, in tense situations, that he tended to…I believe the phrase is, 'blow up' in the faces of those closest to him."

"He yelled at people when he was stressed," he repeated, just to be clear.

"Or hurting," Old Spock agreed quietly. "He refused to accept help from those around him, and he tended to bend rules when he thought the situation warranted it. Creative interpretation of the Prime Directive, I believe he called it on more than one occasion."

Whoa. That was a big no-no. He must really have been an Admirals' pet if he got away with murder like that. "Well, Spock – my Spock – won't let me bend any rules," he replied, grinning slightly. "Why did you let him get around the Prime Directive like that without calling him on it?"

Spock looked down for a moment. Then, "I…" the elderly man raised his head finally, "had given him my oath of loyalty. Without question, without exception, without stipulation. Until the end of Time."

Jim felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. "You…trusted him that much," he murmured. Trusted him so much that even if Old Kirk had made the wrong decisions, he would still know that he'd have Spock backing him in the face of everyone else. Who really needed the _Federation's_ confidence, if he had _that_?

"That much," was the gentle agreement, "and more."

"Must've been nice." And no, he did not sound grumpy or bitter, thank you very much. That was Bones's specialty.

He was slightly surprised to see Old Spock's eyes crinkle at the corners. "You are not entirely bereft of such regard from your own First Officer, Jim; and one year of association is hardly a quarter-century."

He knew that was true to some extent; even after a year, he knew that there was no way Spock and he hadn't killed each other yet, no way the _Enterprise_ had survived the hell-in-space she had this last year unless there was something special in the way they acted as a command team. He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know Spock trusts me with his life…I just don't think he trusts me with _mine_," he answered, smiling.

"That, at least, is certainly a universal constant," was the dry rejoinder.

His grin widened. "But seriously," he continued, when the amusement had faded under the weight of what he'd been told. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to beat this thing."

"You must simply do what you believe is right, Jim," the older man said gently. "Trust your instincts, and do not permit yourself to second-guess your decisions based upon Q's predictions. What will be, will be."

He had a headache from this whole mess; needed to make time to see Bones before they started communications with the Cerulean planetoids. Scrubbing at his eyes, he sighed and then met the calm gaze on the vid-screen. "One more question?"

"Name it."

"Do you believe in Destiny?" he asked bluntly. "Because my Spock doesn't."

The elderly man met his eyes for a moment, something undefinable churning in the dark gaze. "I do," came the answer at last, decisive and final.

He blinked, surprised. And curious. "Why?"

Spock's eyes dropped, as if in embarrassment or something else he was attempting to conceal. "Because I must, Jim."

Well, that was informative. "May I ask…why, exactly, you feel that you have to believe in it?" he asked softly, not wanting to offend if the matter were too private.

The older man hesitated for a moment, as if debating a course of action. Then, a decision apparently made, he rose from his seat. "I believe you may safely know this. A moment, Captain," he spoke, and moved out of sight of the vid-screen.

Moments later, he had returned, a small object cradled carefully in worn hands.

Jim somehow got the idea that this was going to be awfully important, and the next sentence confirmed it.

"This is the only personal possession which came with me through the wormhole created by the detonation of the red-matter in Romulan space, Jim." The object was placed with exceeding care upon the table, before the vid-screen, and he finally got a good look at it.

A small round pendant, about two-point-five inches in diameter and a half-inch tall, made of some softly-polished black metalloid. A practical, sturdy chain of the same metal was attached to it, forming a loop.

"A locket?" he hazarded, surprised.

"A holo-emitter," Old Spock corrected, his voice distorted by the angle of his head tilted down toward the object.

"Isn't wearing any kind of adornment a little illogical?"

"Most likely," was the bland agreement. Before he could find voice to reply to that confession, Spock had continued. "I do not believe it will cause harm to your timeline to view this, as I believe its words are universally constant…and perhaps it will explain why I must, most emphatically, believe in destiny."

One long, graceful finger pressed an activation button, and an image sprang into life on the screen.

His eyes widened, for they were staring into his own; different in color, in a different face – but not so different that he would not recognize the image for who it was (but was he really going to look like that in forty years? Maybe Bones was right about the salads, after all…).

If he'd had any doubts about the holo-image's identity, the look on Old Spock's face when the voice began dispelled any doubts.

Holy crap, the holo-image was _singing_. Thank every Omnipotent in the multiverse, he could at least carry a tune better than his counterpart (though he doubted that was what Q had in mind as far as how he would be better than Old Spock's Jim Kirk).

But…an old version of himself, singing happy birthday to an aging Vulcan? It was kind of sweet, even if it was just the first two lines of the song.

_I know I know_, the image spoke with a laugh and a sparkling smile, and Jim began to see glints of that magnetic charisma the Ambassador had spoken of,_ it's illogical to celebrate something you had nothing to do with, but I haven't had the chance to congratulate you on your appointment to the ambassadorship so I thought I'd seize the occasion. _

_Bravo, Spock. They tell me your first mission may take you away for awhile, so I'll be the first to wish you luck…and to say…I miss you, old friend._

Vague impressions only, wraiths of memories barely seen in a hasty mind-meld for the purpose of an information dump, brushed ghostly against his memory, and with them the shivering realization that this message, whatever it was, had been sent just before Kirk had…died, he always assumed, though the actual memory of the captain's passing had been carefully, jealously guarded in that hasty mind-sharing with the ambassador.

_I suppose I'd always imagined us, outgrowing Starfleet together,_ the holo-image sighed, fondness creasing the lines of stubbornly-strong features. _ Watching life swing us into our Emeritus years…_

Destiny _sucked_, there was no other way to put it.

_I look around at the new cadets now and can't help thinking…has it really been so long? Wasn't it only yesterday we stepped onto the _Enterprise_ as boys? That I had to prove to the crew I deserved command…and their respect? _ The tone changed, lightened slightly. _ I know what you'd say — 'It's their turn now, Jim.' And of course you're right… but it got me thinking._ _Who's to say we can't go one more round? By the last tally, only twenty five percent of the galaxy's been charted_. _I'd call that negligent. Criminal, even – and an open invitation_.

He smiled; possibly they weren't so unlike after all.

The holo-image's voice softened, deepened, lost its edge of levity. He found himself finally understanding the hypnotic power that had obviously swayed a Vulcan in another universe…that was something he'd never have.

_You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny, _the image said softly_. And…if that's true, then yours is to be by my side. _

Aw, geez…

He swallowed.

The voice quieted to an almost-whisper. _And if there's any true logic to the universe, Spock...we'll end up on that Bridge again someday._

He made the colossal mistake of looking from the holo-image to the Ambassador's eyes (_I believe in destiny, because I **must**, _indeed). Again, the memory flitted, half-remembered, through his mind. _So you do feel._ So deeply, so passionately, so _painfully_.

The hologram's voice lightened, turning the look of nostalgia into a sunny burst of lighthearted affection. _Admit it, Spock,_ the image finished with a grin. _ For people like us, the journey itself…is home. _(4)

The image raised a hand in what was probably supposed to be the Vulcan _ta'al_; a knowing smile appeared when the fingers refused to fall into position, and a sheepish shrug. _You know I've never been able to manage that,_ the image chuckled. _Anyway, happy birthday, Spock, however illogical it may seem to you. _

A final smile eased the old captain's features, and he leaned forward slightly in the holo-image, irrationally reaching out as if to touch the recipient of his gift. _Take care, my friend._

The image flickered, disappeared, leaving only empty space…as if a black hole had just swallowed all the light in the sparse Vulcan room. The pendant lay quiet upon the table, silence on both ends of the communication.

Then he looked up at the older version of his own First Officer and (eventually, he hoped) friend, who sat quietly, looking at the pendant for a moment before resignedly returning his gaze to the screen.

The unshielded loss and longing and utter _loneliness_ in the elderly Vulcan's eyes almost broke his heart.

"Two months later, he was lost to the Nexus during the _Enterprise_-B's maiden voyage," Old Spock said softly, the words ringing too harsh in the silence. "He saved his ship that day, and for that final act I am grateful. It was…fitting." (5)

"But you said once that he didn't die then," he finally found his voice and half-asked the burning question.

"No, he did not," the elder man replied, all painful traces of emotion vanishing for the moment behind the safety of an expressionless countenance. "He was listed first as missing. I…for the first six months after his disappearance, Starfleet searched for him, while I researched what I could regarding the Nexus. Neither of us were successful, and another three months later James T. Kirk was pronounced presumed-dead and given a hero's memorial."

"But what really happened?" he asked, not understanding.

Spock straightened perceptibly, and carefully replaced the pendant in the invisible folds of his meditation robe. "That is not something you should know, at least at this time, Jim. Sufficient knowledge…is that seventy-eight years later, he was finally put to rest…again saving the world and indeed the universe, and beside another captain of the _Enterprise_."

"Captain Picard?"

A slightly surprised eyebrow. "Affirmative."

Kirk shivered suddenly, trying to process what he had just seen. "I hope, when the time comes, I'll go up with my ship," he found himself saying, despite not intending to add to the emotional melodrama flying high in this room already. "Somehow I've always thought I'll die alone, but…Spock?" (6)

The old man's eyes had suddenly closed for a brief instant, but when they opened again they were clear of anything except resignation tinged with a fondness directed at him. "You are very like him," the Vulcan said, lips twitching.

"Then I hope my Spock is very like you," he found himself returning, and meant it with all his heart.

"I would deduce so, as we are in fact the same person," a dry, cool voice sounded from behind him.

Walking paradox, thy name is Spock. And he didn't sound happy. "Um…hey?" he offered, attempting a disarming grin. "Didn't hear you come in. Join the party?"

It was horrible, and he knew it, and so didn't take offense when Spock's brows (his Spock's) lowered fearsomely his direction. "Your levity is inappropriate, given the subject matter of what you have just finished witnessing, Captain."

He sighed, and refrained from rolling his eyes. Old Spock only looked mildly entertained by the two of them, which seemed to be his default setting.

Spock – his Spock – stepped closer to the comm-screen. "May I make an inquiry, of a personal nature, regarding your current discussion?" he asked without preamble. Had to love the Vulcan sledge-hammer-of-directness approach.

The Ambassador inclined his head wordlessly.

"Um, right, so I'll leave you to it –"

"Unnecessary," both Spocks said in unison.

He dropped back into his chair, rubbing the headache away from his temples. Ye gods, two of them was almost unbearable.

And also pretty awesome, in a freaky kind of way.

"You saw the entirety of the message I showed to Jim," the Ambassador stated. Fact, not question. Sneaky old man must've known he was there all along.

"I did."

"I presumed you might have questions. Ask what you will, Spock."

"My thanks. I have but one, a personal inquiry." Spock's pale features looked a little pinched; but then who wouldn't be shaken up over such a sentimental message on top of everything they knew had happened to that old universe. Theirs wasn't the only universe where Destiny not only missed the train, but didn't even arrive at the right station.

He suddenly remembered that Spock had said the pendant was the only personal possession the ambassador owned that had made it through the wormhole with him – which meant he had to have been carrying it on his person on the mission to save Romulus. The logical conclusion being, that he wore it at all times.

He yanked his brain back from the happy puddle of mush it had been melting into when Spock voiced the inquiry, in that particular emotionless information-digging tone that betrayed his tension clearer than the stick-straight posture.

"The shock of your Captain Kirk's death must have been severe, especially accompanying the shock of discovering minutes before that he was not actually deceased."

"It was…unpleasant," was the cautious admittance, and Kirk nearly snorted.

Spock's eyes sparked with desperate curiosity. "How did you cope with the psychic repercussions?" he asked bluntly.

Kirk blinked, puzzled; what psychic repercussions?

The ambassador's eyes suddenly darkened in an unidentifiable pain, but his tone was steady. "I…did not feel him die, Spock," he replied, equally blunt.

His First stared, unabashedly disbelieving. "You felt _nothing_ when he died?"

"It had been _seventy-eight years_, young one," the older man sighed, a human, sad sigh. "And we were never mentally attuned over long distances, Spock; you know this as well as I, that even the bonds of the closest of t'hy'la or of life-mates do not always extend over thousands of lightyears. We were not, as many presumed, life-bonded; and even if we had been, with one partner being a psi-null human, the likelihood of the bond reaching that far would have been low indeed." (7)

"And yet, the crew of the _Intrepid_, in the very farthest reaches of the Delta quadrant, felt the psychic echo of Vulcan's destruction one year ago to the point of becoming nearly incapacitated at their posts, a distance over four times that between Romulus and Veridian III," Spock pressed ruthlessly, obviously after something, but darned if Kirk could tell what. (8)

"And they were all full-blooded, fully telepathic Vulcans," Old Spock answered patiently. "In addition, the repercussions of six billion deaths cannot be ignored or unheard by any even mildly telepathic individual; not so with one solitary death."

"But for a Vulcan, one life is as precious as six billion; the telepathic backlash should have been equally noticeable."

"Um…someone want to tell me what the heck you're talking about?" Kirk finally got his interjection in.

He received two sets of sternly-set eyebrows, and a twin "Negative, at this time."

"Wonderful." He crossed his arms; the pout usually worked on Old Spock at least (he hadn't quite broken his Spock in yet to his charms). Waving a hand peremptorily in the air, he sniffed. "Carry on, then."

"How do you explain your entire lack of reaction to your Captain Kirk's death?" Spock asked intently.

The ambassador merely looked at him.

Spock blinked, slowly becoming more tense as the seconds ticked by. "…You did not even feel his return to reality from the fantasy-world of the Nexus, did you?" he asked at last.

The old man's eyes dropped, head drooping as if too weary or too sadly ashamed to continue the discussion. "I did not," was the quiet admittance. "I felt nothing at his return, and knew nothing of his death until Captain Picard brought the news to me some months later – covertly, and at great risk to himself – while I was working behind the scenes of Romulan bureaucracy. It is inexplicable to my mind; even on Romulus, I felt Leonard McCoy's passing – but for my captain, I felt nothing. I cannot explain it, Spock."

"I see." Spock's face was expressionless as usual, but Kirk could fairly see the wheels spinning in that brilliant mind. And was he the only person who thought it was adorable that the old man still referred to his Jim Kirk as _captain_, even though the guy had been an admiral at some point and had been dead for over eight decades?

Problem was that he had no idea what his Spock was contemplating or why or even _if_ he should be scared of it.

But an instant later, his First had snapped to attention before him, all other concerns for the moment forgotten. "My apologies for the intrusion, Captain, but we will be within detailed sensor range of the Cerulean system in…now, two-point-three-five minutes. Your presence will be necessary on the Bridge."

"You could have called me, instead of coming to find me?" he ventured curiously.

"I…was in need of some answers, sir, as we are both aware of the gravity of current events," his First replied, and nodded respectfully to the patiently-waiting ambassador. "Excuse the interruption, Ambassador."

"Of course."

"I'm coming, Spock; wait the turbolift for me, will you?" Kirk asked, stretching his limbs in preparation to rising.

"Aye, sir." Nodding to his counterpart, the younger Vulcan then left the room as silently as he had evidently entered.

Jim looked at the older man and smiled, and was pleased to see a responding twinkle in the other Spock's eyes. He was assailed with a sudden wash of sympathetic grief for this man who had lost so much; his entire work on Romulus ruined in a day's time, his entire universe empty of all that had held life and joy for him in it, unable to return home or to even say he had one anymore, and left all alone with only the child-ghosts of old friends to comfort and cheer him.

"I'm so sorry," he blurted suddenly, and felt like a total moron for apologizing for something that wasn't his fault and that he couldn't fix no matter how hard he tried to be his counterpart's Jim Kirk.

But the tiny, not-really-a-smile he received in return warmed him, chasing away the embarrassment. "I thank thee," Spock replied in formal Vulcan – he could understand that much of it at least – and raised a hand in farewell. "Jim, tread carefully with Q; do not relax your guard, and trust your First Officer's intuition when your own resolve fails."

"In other words, business as usual."

"Indeed." A glint of amusement overpowered the melancholia for a moment. "If I can be of assistance in any way, do not hesitate to contact me," the elderly Vulcan added. "I shall be on the Federation research vessel _Patagonia_ for the next two weeks, surveying nearby moons for medicinal plant life that could grow in New Vulcan's soils. Subspace communications should reach me within the hour."

"Thanks," he answered, smiling, and reached up to turn off the transmission. "We'll keep you informed."

Now, to find Spock and figure out what in the galaxy he'd been going on about here…

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Six**  
(1) Another difference I speculate upon regarding the AOS: I suspect, in coming movies, that the Romulans are going to take the place of the Klingons in the TOS universe as the traditional anti-Federation bad guys, relegating the Klingons to the seldom-seen-but-deadly enemies that the Romulans were in TOS.  
(2) This is also an educated guesstimation. In TOS, there were only eleven starships the size of the Enterprise in the entire galaxy. If we take the fact that the XI NCC-1701 was the newest ship, there were probably fewer than that, and six of them were destroyed in the Battle of Vulcan. That leaves very few starships to cover the entire galaxy.  
(3) This is accurate; much as I love the character of Jim Kirk and believe he's misrepresented often, I do recognize that he had as many faults as any hero in fiction; prejudice was the main one, evidenced most strongly in the movies, especially ST:VI.  
(4) The italicized portions are transcripted from the scene which was deleted from the ST:XI script, originally intended as a William Shatner voice-over. Part of me is glad they didn't include the scene, as I'd have thoroughly embarrassed myself bawling in front of everyone, but part of me is heartbroken that they didn't. The entire scene can be read at (/2009/11/23/read-the-star-trek-2009-scene-written-for-william-shatner). The last two italicized lines, following this footnote, are mine. The rest belongs to the script writers. (5) _Star Trek: Generations_. Which has to rate within the top five of the Lamest Hero Movie Deaths in literary history. I reject that movie with every fiber of my TOS-loving soul; this fic is solely the result of the denial that movie generated. I believe I'd have been content to know that Kirk died when the Nexus pulled him from the Enterprise-B; it was his later death in the movie that destroyed what could have been a (still horrible, but at least fitting) going out saving his ship.  
(6) "I've always known…I'll die alone." If you're not a TOS movie buff, that's one of the most famous lines from ST:V.  
(7) And again, I differ from many traditional viewpoints regarding the relationship between Spock and Kirk. I'll not go into the various beliefs here, but for the purposes of this fic, what Spock just said is what I personally believe was between them. And I have good reason for saying why Spock did not feel the death of James Kirk, as you'll find out later.  
(8) In TOS, the _Intrepid_ was a Vulcan exploratory science vessel, destroyed in _The Immunity Syndrome._


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_**

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" he asked, as the lift rose to the Bridge with the soothing hum of well-loved machinery.

Spock's voice was grim, his rigid gaze fixed on some nonexistent spot on the clean doors. "Captain, while I appreciate both your confidence and the opportunity, you will agree that your passing off to me the responsibility of choosing the consequences of your bargain with Q will take much deliberation."

Ah, right. Probably should have given him some kind of warning. "I...didn't have time to ask you," he mumbled, shifting his weight to the other foot.

Slightly surprised, the Vulcan's gaze slid his direction. With a curious tilt of the head, Spock answered with a reassuring look. "I am here to serve, Captain," he said simply. "I meant no reproach, merely to explain my desire to choose prudently. The wrong choice could disrupt our timestream far more than it is already."

"You'll figure it out, I know you will. And besides," he groaned as the lift slowed, "I have to pass Q's test anyhow, or it won't even be an issue."

Spock's lips twitched. The lift slowed to a stop, and they exited together; Jim heard the Vulcan's voice from behind him as they made their way quickly to stations. "I believe, Captain, that the appropriate response is…_you are the genius; you'll 'figure it out'_." (1)

His delighted laughter drew him more than one odd look from his apprehensive crewmen, but hey, that was one of the perks of command, being able to freak your crew out a little from time to time. Or more often than that, in his case, but whatever.

"Her Highness Ma'arta of the Gra'aitian colonists is holding for you, sir," Uhura spoke from behind him as he sent his chair swinging back toward the main viewscreen.

Breathing a muttered prayer that he wouldn't butcher the woman's name (and that she'd be more attractive than the last representative he'd met from another species, one that looked remarkably like a four-foot-six potato with two legs and three stalky eyes), he motioned toward the screen.

"Put her on, Lieutenant. Your Highness, I am James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_," and no, he never did get tired of saying that, "sent to evaluate the biological threat on C-2 and C-3."

"Captain Kirk," and OYES, she was definitely much better looking than the potato-people; all gorgeous silky hair and stunning eyes, even if both were a strange shade of teal common to the natives of Gra'aitia, "we are grateful for your assistance. The plague is spreading, Captain," she continued without preamble, her expression full of anxiety and no little fear. "Already half the population is on the verge of panic; the ports are closed with those colonists who, despite the request of Federation leaders to remain in their homes, are insistent upon evacuating before they discover who will be the next household to fall."

"Highness, we will do all we can; but first, we will need to assess the situation. You have had your medical teams working on the solution, I presume?"

"Around the clock, Captain. They have turned up no useful information save the knowledge that apparently the virus runs its course in the space of a few minutes; it is a very short-lived virus, untraceable for more than an hour after the victim has died."

"Which makes it nearly impossible to study," Spock interjected, eyebrows clearly frowning.

"And it means that it's a formidable biological weapon, Commander," Ma'arta nodded, acknowledging and including the Vulcan in her words. "We have no suggestion regarding its origin or its treatment, only the knowledge that it is spreading from house to house, seemingly at random."

"We still have to check in with the colonists on C-3, Highness," Jim said, glancing down for reference to the data-padd he held, containing the information that had automatically been sent to the _Enterprise_ from C-2 and C-3 the moment long-range contact was made by his Communications Chief. "With your permission, I will leave a medical team with your scientists to review the known information and see how much progress we can make as to a cure."

"Your medical staff, captain, will be welcome – but I will not deceive you; the virus seems to strike at random, and even with what protection our science domes can offer, they may not be entirely safe," Ma'arta said softly.

Jim looked up from the padd, his eyes grim after viewing the new message Uhura had silently forwarded to it. "They'll be safer on your planet than on C-3, Highness. It appears that the plague count there has tripled in the last two days. One-third of the colonists are now dead or dying, and Command is standing by with orders and en route transport ships for a possible evacuation, if we can't find a remedy in the next twenty-four hours."

The Gra'aitian ruler's eyes lowered, blinked three times in her race's traditional gesture of respect for death. Then she looked up, determination showing. "Captain, this colony has been invaluable for scientific and sociological study; to be forced to evacuate would be disastrous."

"Not to mention, I would not blame your people for being suspicious of the Federation, as this is your particular planetoid colony," Jim replied, raising an eyebrow at the woman. He was not the best diplomat by any standard, but his brutal honesty even toward his own seemed to carry with it a weight of respect among those he encountered; even Spock couldn't deny the fact of that.

Ma'arta smiled slightly. "Were this the Federation's desire, it has easier ways of removing unwanted planetary members; and to experiment with a biological weapon on a race such as ours, who have much to offer as a nation and chief planetary member, is not logical. You need not fear our holding the Federation liable for any planetary disaster, captain. No, please send down your men; I will have my Minister of Science send you coordinates well within the shielded scientific domes; will that satisfy you as to their safety?"

"It will," he replied with perfect courtesy. "My Chief Science Officer, Commander Spock, and my Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant-Commander McCoy, will be heading the party. They are experts in their fields, Highness; we will find a way to stop this." A rash promise, but then he had Spock and Bones on it, so maybe he wasn't out on such a limb after all. "Are you in need of any supplies?"

"Negative, Captain. My people are not prone to panic; though uneasy, they are for the majority content to wait for circumstances to improve or else to await permission to evacuate in an orderly fashion."

"Good." He forced back a shudder at the knowledge of what atrocities a panicking populace could commit in circumstances like these. "Panic is your worst enemy right now, Highness, not the plague."

"I am aware, Captain." The woman's eyes shifted slightly to one side, and she beckoned one slender hand. A young Gra'aitian male appeared, bowing to her and then turning toward the screen. "Garr, my Minister of Sciences," she introduced.

"_Enterprise_, we are relieved by your presence," Garr spoke sincerely. "I have sent transporter coordinates to your Transporter Operator as well as your First Officer; once you have verified their location as well within the scientific domes, we would welcome your presence to pool our knowledge."

"Then we will keep you waiting no longer, Minister. Your Highness." The woman bowed her head in customary courtesy, and the screen returned to its starry scape, an automatic dimmer over the window to somewhat polarize the brilliant blue star's light.

"Coordinates are well within the protection of the domes, Captain," Spock reported, standing at attention before him.

"Good. Get your team together and beam down there; we'll be back for you in three hours, after we make contact with C-3. And Spock," he called, as the Vulcan nodded and moved toward the lift.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Try to play nice with Bones, will you?"

He received a scalding look of disdain that on anyone else would be insubordinate, and then Spock was gone. Chuckling briefly, he returned his attention to the notes he was making for his preliminary report. Unfortunately, the information seemed to be grim and getting grimmer, and he did not much look forward to speaking with C-3's president about the condition of the planetoid.

-

Three hours on the dot later, they returned to pick up their team from C-2. Their CMO remained on the surface with two of his best technicians, working with the Gra'aitian scientists in the protected laboratories, and they set the _Enterprise_'s orbit to remain in geo-synch with the laboratories' daytime.

Two hours following that, Jim was approaching the precipice of a migraine at breakneck speed.

Spock found him in a pathetically miserable state, staring at the computer monitor in his cabin with two dozen padds lying haphazardly about on the desk, armrests, and a good part of the floor around his feet.

"Your prescription, sir," the Vulcan spoke without preamble, somewhat awkwardly holding up a glass of water and one of McCoy's red pills. (2)

"You're an angel, Spock," Jim breathed before he gulped both in a matter of seconds, hoping his head didn't fall off before they began to take effect.

The eyebrow began inching its way toward Spock's hairline; this was the I-am-not-even-going-to-dignify-that-with-a-response eyebrow.

"Anything go wrong on the away mission?" Jim asked absently, scribbling his name on a report, the scrawl barely legible.

"If by 'wrong' you mean _unanticipated_, then nothing more serious than Dr. McCoy's vomiting after the transporter beam deposited us on the surface."

"Poor Bones." He scribbled his name once more, then threw the padd into the good-enough-for-now pile. "What did you find out about the plague?"

"As the Gra'aitians had already indicated," Spock began, hands clasped loosely behind his back – Jim recognized the transition into Professor Spock Is Lecturing mode, "the plague is a silent, deadly killer. Symptoms appear in the form of shortness of breath and blood pooling just below the surface of the skin, followed shortly by either asphyxiation or, simply, bleeding out from the facial orifices."

That got his attention well enough; he began to wish he'd taken an anti-nausea along with the painkiller. "Ugh," was his succinct response, and Spock's eyebrow went up even further. "You couldn't be, possibly, more clinical about describing that, by any chance?"

The Vulcan looked as if he were literally giving it serious thought, so Jim quickly waved him onward. "Okay, okay, I get it; gross way to go. I'm more concerned with the possibility of a cure, Spock."

"It is virtually impossible to produce one without more study of freshly-expired victims, Captain, as all signs of the virus have vanished within an hour after death. The Gra'aitians have gathered what data they can, and the affliction at least does not appear to be contagious by touch; their information may be enough for us to synthesize a possible vaccine, but an entirely successful _antidote_ is hardly likely." Spock's eyes looked slightly disturbed, Jim could tell from their uneasy glint. "It is…" the Vulcan paused, obviously uncomfortable.

Jim perked up in his chair. "Go on, Mr. Spock."

"I have no real scientific basis upon which to build my…conjectures, Captain." This said as if it were a horrendous crime against science and logic, which to Vulcans it probably was.

He very carefully did not smile. "You know I value opinion and instinct as much as logic, Commander. What's bothering you about this whole thing?"

Spock's weight shifted ever so slightly, an indication of unease. "The pattern, sir," he said, and then shook his head slightly, "or more accurately, the lack of one."

"In what, specifically?"

"In those affected by the plague. The plague seems to be entirely randomized; those affected have no connections with each other that I can discover – and I have been cross-referencing victims for the past ninety-three-point-four minutes – with one significant exception."

Jim sat up straighter in his chair, his headache forgotten. Spock's hunches were rarely without merit, and this sounded awfully important if it had his unflappable First up in arms over it. "Which was?"

Spock looked directly at him, clear unease visible in his eyes. "Captain, the plague apparently is not transmittable by touch – and yet, in each case, when one member of the household was affected, the _entire_ household was affected."

His mouth went dry, thinking of those implications.

"Incommunicable, and yet in each case, whole families died, Captain," Spock reiterated, troubled. "It does not seem possible, but in each case it is true – there is not one documented instance where a family member did survive."

"And if it's such a rapid killer, then…it just somehow gets into the house, and the whole family dies before they know what's happening," he added quietly, thinking of the unseen horrors transpiring below.

Spock nodded. "There is no pattern to the deaths, no link between them. It is an entirely random, happen-chance scattering of victims."

"But that can't be possible; there has to be some kind of indication –" Wait. His eyes widened.

"Precisely my thoughts, Captain," Spock answered, nodding again. "A lack of pattern in something so potentially deadly as to be a literal biological weapon, is in itself an indication."

"This isn't some freak virus," he supplied. "This is deliberate, cold-blooded inducement of terror."

"And attempted genocide, or at the least, selective survival."

His head jerked up so hard something snapped in his neck, and he didn't need a mirror to know his face had gone chalky. But Spock's expression was perfectly neutral, eyes very carefully disinterested.

He wasn't fooled, not for a moment.

"Let's not go there, shall we?" he asked pleasantly, though his eyes were warning the nosy Vulcan off with a metaphorical neon warning sign. He had the feeling Spock wasn't going to pay attention, unfortunately.

"I am merely stating facts, Captain."

"Bull. I know information-fishing when I see it, and you're not getting anything out of me. It's irrelevant to this mission."

Spock took only a small step forward, but Jim suddenly felt trapped between his desk and the wall. "It is most certainly relevant, if it is emotionally compromising the captain of this ship."

_Very_ funny. He shot Spock a sour look that told him he didn't think the irony was hilarious, and rubbed uneasily at his aching head. "Look, Spock. I don't care what Q said; it was a long, freaking long time ago. And yeah, I still may have a panic attack or two a year, may still say way too much about it when I'm drunk. But I'm totally not compromised over it," he sighed, waving a hand helplessly in an attempt to convince his stubborn First he was serious. "Really, Spock. It's been long enough, and it's not like worse hasn't happened in the galaxy since then. Look, you don't think I'd have been able to pass the 'Fleet psych evals if I was a PTSD basket case, now would I?" (3)

"I do not believe so," Spock replied with perfect equanimity, "nor do I believe you are compromised at the present moment. It is, however, my duty as your fr…First Officer, to ascertain your emotional state."

"Oh?" Something was ringing a suspiciously adorable little bell at the back of his mind, and Spock's fidgeting might have something to do with it. "Really? You sure you're not just _worried_ about me, Spock? Sure Q didn't just freak you out a little by spilling my dirty dark secret past?"

"I feel no such emotions, Captain," was the hurried response, and yes he could definitely recognize Vulcan backpedaling when he saw it. "As you have so often assured your crew, _you are awesome enough to take care of yourself_. Sir."

"Yes, well, thank you anyway," he chuckled, and relaxed for the first time since he started on this paperwork. "And for pity's sake sit down before you give me a literal pain in the neck."

Spock hesitated, then sat on the chair across the desk, after first gingerly moving the padd and apple cores that had accumulated there in the last three hours.

"That's better. Now, Science Officer. If this is a deliberately-spread plague, we need motive, method, and identity."

"I agree." Spock deftly procured a blank padd from some unknown location in the clutter that hid his desk from view, and removed the stylus. "Method being the easiest of those three factors to determine; motive should then follow and after that identity should be fairly straightforward to ascertain."

"Method is probably pretty simple," Jim mused, tossing another apple core at the wastebasket by the wall. It missed. Meh; win some, lose some. "If it's quick enough to disperse before it can be registered and kill in that short span of time, it would have to be airborne with some force and then inhaled, wouldn't you think?"

"I would," Spock agreed. "The only other alternative is administration directly into the bloodstream; but this method would not be possible nor practical when eliminating multiple targets in a small span of time. Besides, according to Dr. McCoy's preliminary reports," here he tapped the padd with the stylus, "there are no indications of any outside violence to the victims. In any case."

Jim took the padd and scrolled briefly through it with the practiced ease of one who does mountains of paperwork and can cut through the extraneous to discover the vital. "Add to that, the fact that they died from asphyxiation, and inhalation seems to be the logical method."

Spock pulled up another report and pushed it across the desk with an air of satisfaction. "That was the doctor's conclusion, corroborated by the Gra'aitian scientists. Most likely the plague is in the form of a gas, similar to the drastic methods of execution used in Storenti prisons, for example. Odorless, colorless, but capable of killing within minutes."

He couldn't help but shiver, which only caused the pounding behind his eyes to increase. "It's inhumane even in that context," he snapped, scowling at the reports.

"Agreed. But as a weapon of mass murder, it is highly effective." Spock's expression changed slightly, though he made no further comment upon the matter; genocide was a crime they were both far too well-acquainted with, and some skeletons were much better off remaining hidden in the darkest closets. "Method being established tentatively, then, the motive remains our next priority to establish."

"Exactly. Why? So far it hasn't escalated into an entire population being decimated; just every day more households dying with no explanation. It's almost as if whoever is behind it only wants to stir up terror instead of killing widescale." He frowned and leaned back in his chair, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "It'd be much easier to just beam drums of the virus into every main spaceport on the planet, instead of just popping a canister or whatever into scattered homes. It's not the methodology of terrorists."

Spock's eyes gleamed in appreciation. "Quite correct; the operational procedures are not those of one such terrorist; and besides, as the planet is entirely self-governing and in fact quite sparsely populated due to being a small experimental science colony, no terrorist would have motive enough to do such an act."

"The colony isn't sitting on some rich mineral deposit, is it? Klingons have been known to do some weird things to beat out a Federation colony's claim on stuff like that."

"Negative." Spock shook his head and pulled up another report. "That was also one of the first theories I investigated and summarily discarded. The planetoid is there simply as a colony for the Gra'aitian science division to work uninhibited, studying the effects of a blue star's centrality as opposed to a red star's, as in their own solar system. It holds nothing of material or scientific value, as a planet."

"And I take it that neither does C-3?" he sighed.

Spock's disgruntled look was answer enough.

"And C-3 is just a plain Federation colony, populated by humans and a few species of intelligent but not sentient animals. What connects them, and why would someone want to start a reign of terror on both of them?"

Spock shifted slightly in his chair, his eyebrows glaring at the padd before him.

Jim raised one of his own. "Spill," he ordered, and added a _don't act like you don't know what that means_ look for emphasis.

"I…should prefer to wait for more data before voicing such speculation," the Vulcan admitted, his eyes betraying his discomfort.

Jim sighed; it wouldn't do him any good to continue, unless he wanted to spend an hour pulling metaphorical teeth to get Spock to come out with it. Whatever the idea was, it must be completely out in left field for his inquisitive First to not let him in on it.

"Does this theory you're working on pose any danger to my ship if you are correct, Commander?" he asked directly, for that was something he couldn't cave on.

A faint flush colored the Vulcan's face, and he slowly nodded. "Affirmative; I had not considered that. I then have no choice but to share my speculations."

"None," he agreed, but not unkindly. "And I always value speculation, no matter how wild it is, Science Officer. Now tell me what you think might be the connection between those two planetoids."

"It is…slightly far-fetched, sir. But there is one peculiarity regarding both C-2 and C-3, which they share with only one other of the planets orbiting Cerulea."

He sat up straighter, mind focusing sharply as the pain of his headache receded under the influx of adrenaline. "And that is?"

Spock looked up from a diagram and schematics, frowning slightly. "Both C-2 and C-3 have the standard atmospheres in which their respective colonies may live in relative comfort for their inhabiting species. However, surrounding both is a strong magnetic solar wind-barrier from the blue sun's ionic fluctuations. This barrier would, at this time of the solar cycle, be more than sufficient to disrupt all sensors immediately outside the planet's outer atmosphere."

He sat back, brow wrinkled as he tried to absorb this information. "But their communications are fine; we talked to them earlier," he pointed out.

Spock shook his head. "I do not refer to their basic manipulation of air-waves, Captain; they would never even notice any effect on the planet unless the wind-barrier grew particularly turbulent. What I wish to point out, is that such a barrier could, more than conceivably…" he hesitated, face grave but uncertain as to his own supposition, but Jim motioned for him to continue, "…could conceivably mask a ship on the far side of the planet or over one of its magnetic poles; and the _Enterprise_ and C-2's sensors would never register its presence." (4)

Jim shot upright in his chair, sending a cold coffee swirling around in its mug. "A natural cloak," he said, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Spock's approval was almost tangible. "A very simple one, but most effective; we employed the same technique in Saturn's rings just prior to beaming aboard the _Narada_. With a synchronized orbit and careful maneuvering, protected by the solar wind-barrier a ship could be in orbit around C-2 or C-3, and we would never see her. Our sensors would never register her presence, and neither would any technology which the planetoids themselves possess."

"You're suggesting this, because you think some ship is lurking around up there and just beaming the virus down to the planets?"

"It seems more likely than any other explanation, though I will admit to a certain degree of skepticism with conjectures unsupported by facts."

"No, it makes perfect sense…and we'd be idiots to not check it out. We don't have all the time in the world to sit around and hope we can catch someone in the act, anyway." A sudden thought occurred to him, and he looked across the desk at his calm First. "But wouldn't we register the ship when it moved back and forth between C-2 and C-3, since the winds only sweep over the top of the planets' atmospheres? The moment it's no longer protected by the interference, we would register it on our scanners."

"We would," Spock acknowledged. "However, that could easily be rectified by simply remaining in orbit around whatever planet the hypothetical ship currently orbits, safely within the masking zone. I would suggest maintaining our position here, with scanners set to sweep the surrounding areas. If, in three days' time, no further outbreaks are present on C-3, then we may have a more plausible hypothesis upon which to build."

Jim nodded. "Make it happen, Mr. Spock."

"Aye, sir."

"And after you do that, get Bones and the rest of our men back up here if they've gotten all they can from those labs; protected domes or not, it's making me nervous having them down there."

"Affirmative."

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Seven**  
(1) Another paraphrased quote from ST:XI; original quote not mine.  
(2) TOS Kirk is prone to headaches, and contrary to popular belief, McCoy gave him a pill for it (_Trouble with Tribbles_) instead of ramming him with a hypospray. :)  
(3) And again referencing Tarsus IV, this is exactly why I feel that too many times it's made a bad angst-inducer in fanfiction. If Kirk had been as scarred by the trauma as some portray him to be, then he'd never have passed Starfleet psych evaluations enough to be command material. I'm not minimizing the horror or the trauma, but I believe it isn't as out of control as some portray it to be. Hence my minimal mention of it in reference to slight plot detail; this isn't a Tarsus IV story (though I've read some very good ones, don't get me wrong).  
(4) Before someone hollers about cloaking devices, keep in mind that this is a parallel timeline to TOS – and we never hear about cloaks until Season Two's _Enterprise Incident_, and then they were unheard-of as being brand-new technology. 


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight_**

Three days later, the captain wasn't really surprised to learn that the outbreak on C-3 had stopped completely as soon as they had synched an orbit around C-2. However, the outbreaks on C-2 had ceased as well, rather than increasing or remaining unvarying, as they had surmised.

McCoy's staff had been working with the Gra'aitians to produce a vaccine with which to inoculate the rest of the population of the Cerulean planets, but to this point they had only come up with a few test vaccines which all proved ineffective when tested in simulations; the virus was too powerful and resistant to the usual methods of treatment. The colonists had obtained only a few specimens and readings of the virus's structure from a few unfortunate casualties a week before, and as the specimens were highly unstable they were forced to go slowly in order to not infect anyone and in the process also lose their experimental matter.

The last inoculation had nearly been effective; it had lasted for over thirty seconds before the patterns had degraded from the virus's destruction. This was a twelve second improvement upon the last one, and McCoy was confident that with a bit of selective engineering his and Spock's departments might be able to come up with a vaccine soon. As to finding a cure for anyone already infected, that was much more difficult. A cure which would neutralize the virus, relax the muscles of the contracting throat and lungs, and return the blood cell and platelet count to normal levels in a victim – all within thirty seconds, give or take a few – was not an easy request to make of a starship medical division, even if that division was made of the best in the Fleet. The problem, was that the truly best-of-the-best had been lost in the Battle of Vulcan; the _Enterprise_ people, expert as they were, relied much more on trial and error than experience and expertise.

It was going to be a long week.

Jim was not at all surprised, only dismayed, to hear that on the fifth day C-5 reported in panic to the Federation that there had been an outbreak of the plague in their capital city.

C-5, Spock pointed out immediately, even before their transmission from Command had concluded, was the third planet in the system which held that masking screen of magnetic solar winds. And, what was far more telling, C-5 had in the last twenty-four hours come within beaming range of C-2 in its irregular, elliptical orbit around Cerulea.

"They didn't have to move," the captain said unnecessarily, when confronted with a diagram of the orbits and distance necessary for beaming.

"Indeed. I believe we may take it as a working hypothesis that there is indeed a ship in a complementary orbit to ours, around C-2," Spock agreed, casting a glance across the table at the grim face of their Chief Medical Officer.

"If we don't find out what's goin' on and stop it soon, we're gonna have a major pandemic on our hands on each planet, Captain," McCoy interjected worriedly. "We're no closer to findin' a cure than we were four days ago, and the vaccine isn't anywhere near complete enough to be effective. Besides, even if it was, it'd take at least two weeks to inoculate the entire population of just the three affected planets!"

"Have your teams discovered yet exactly what type of virus this plague constitutes?" Spock inquired.

"It's not Terran in origin, I can safely tell you that," the physician declared with certainty. "And it's not Gra'aitian, and there's no record of anything identical in the Fleet Medical Database. Whoever's infecting these people, they didn't get their knowledge and medical nightmares from Federation medicine." McCoy scowled and crossed his arms, tapping the fingers of one hand nervously against his opposing blue sleeve. "The virus attacks the body and instantly begins rewriting the coding of the most important functions; breathing and blood production. I've never seen anything like it; it's organic all right, but brilliantly engineered to be the perfect, non-traceable weapon of terror and mass destruction. Makes me sick to think about it."

Jim opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off by the whistle of the inter-comm. Uhura's voice sounded slightly strained, and he resisted the urge to sigh in front of his subordinates. No doubt it was a message from Command, something to the effect of _get your job done, Kirk, what do you think we're paying you to do out there?._

"Is it confidential, Lieutenant?" he asked, glancing around the table at his staff.

"Negative, Captain. But it is Priority One. Admiral Cartwright, sir."

He didn't really know Cartwright, which could be good or else really, really bad. He and Pike were cool, and Komack at least didn't hate his guts any more; Archer liked him well enough but hated Montgomery Scott and, by extension, anyone on the _Enterprise_ except Kirk himself.

But an admiral contacting them who didn't know them personally was rarely a good sign. Spock exchanged a knowing look with him that was not without sympathy, and he sighed inwardly. "Pipe it down here then, Uhura."

"Aye, sir." The tone was without that gleeful edge of wanting-to-see-him-fall-flat-on-his-arrogant-face it had held for the first few months of their mission, and only now rang with competence and an efficiency that made him quite easy in his mind about having her aboard. "Transferring now."

"Admiral Cartwright," he greeted with a respectful nod, and sat up in rigid attention as the elderly man's face filled the screen. "How can we be of assistance?"

_"Kirk, your last report on the Cerulean situation was disturbingly sparse of details,"_ the older man began with severity.

Jim winced, but wasn't about to blame Spock or anyone else for the fact that there simply wasn't anything to report. "Our progress was stalled five days ago, upon our arrival, in fact, Admiral. Nothing of note has happened except our progress in developing an inoculation against the Cerulean plague. We've also been –"

The admiral cut him off with a slicing hand motion, craggy features twisting into a worried frown. _"Captain, I am not calling to censure you for your brevity in reporting."_

"Oh, thank gods. I mean," he gulped, as Spock's boot-toe gently stomped on his under the table, "that is something of a relief, Admiral. What's going on, then?"

_"Kirk, you need to get the _Enterprise_ to a safe distance away from Cerulean space, immediately."_

A stunned silence crept over the room like a chilly mist, as they all blinked at each other. Then Jim found his voice, and firmly pushed a bubble of panic into a small mental compartment, barring the door with every ounce of willpower in his possession. "Acknowledged, sir, but may I know why?"

The admiral sighed, and rubbed a wrinkled hand across his eyes before returning his gaze back to the viewscreen before him. _"Captain Kirk, you are aware that the Federation has currently only five functioning constitution-class starships in the 'Fleet. A dozen more are being constructed, but for the next two years you and the other four were it."_

"Yes, sir?"

_"We believe this plague outbreak is a ploy by the Romulan states to lure out and destroy the _Enterprise_."_

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but the other, non-instinctive half of his brain, protested the weirdness of the conjecture. Exchanging a dubious glance with Spock, he turned an unspoken question back to Cartwright.

The man nodded, face grave. _"Kirk, in the last two weeks, the _Potemkin_ and the _Defiant_ responded to emergency distress signals from peaceful colonies in the middle of barely-charted space in separate sectors of the galaxy."_ (1,2) The thin lips compressed for a moment in anger before the admiral continued. _"Both were attacked,"_ he stated. _"Severe casualties, and from Romulan warbirds. The _Potemkin_ dropped out of warp right into an ambush, and the _Defiant_ was taken unaware in the middle of a search-and-rescue mission for three missing shuttlecraft."_

He was gripping the edge of the table now, all instincts shrieking red alerts at him. Around the table, his staff began to mutter with unease.

_"That is not all,"_ Cartwright added grimly.

"It gets _worse_?"

_"Much,"_ the admiral replied tightly. _"Kirk, we lost the _Constellation_."_ (3)

All the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and he found it difficult to strain for what was left. "…Lost?" he barely heard himself ask, and he barely noticed Bones rocketing out of his chair, making a beeline around the table toward him.

Cartwright's strained eyes softened in sympathy. _"She's gone, Kirk. Destroyed with all hands aboard. They responded to a distress call from the Federation colony on Planet L-372. The base had already been destroyed, and as far as the base audio feeds can tell us, Romulans used the transporters to beam a small container of anti-matter straight into their warp core intermix chamber."_

Scott made a broken sound of horrified disbelief, which he barely heard over the buzzing in his ears.

_"There were no survivors, and Planet L-372 was annihilated in the ensuing explosion. System L-370 has been quarantined due to the effects of radiation for an area of four thousand kilometers in…"_

"Captain." A hand on his arm, and a low voice in his ear. He started violently, jerking in his chair, and looked blankly at the face of his First, McCoy hovering worriedly behind him out of sight of the transmission monitor.

He realized Cartwright had finished and, swallowing hard, he pulled his head back from the graveyards of Memory and firmly into the present. His ship might be in danger, according to Cartwright. He had to focus on that. Focus on the ship.

Focus on the _Enterprise_. "And you believe the Cerulean plague might make us fourth on the hit list, Admiral?" He was surprised, and pleased, at how calm his voice sounded.

Cartwright was eyeing him warily. _"There's no _might_ about it, Kirk. It's obvious the Romulans are trying to pick off the five starships that are left in the Federation."_

"Wait, did the _Potemkin_ or the _Defiant_ actually contact the warbirds?" he asked suddenly, the grief ebbing under the sharp flash of warning that stabbed through his mind.

Disdain clearly showing upon his craggy features, Cartwright glared at him. _ "Of course not, Kirk – they were in the middle of a battle, and trying to escape with their lives!"_

"Then with all due respect, Admiral," he spoke earnestly, shaking off Spock's lingering hand and learning forward, elbows on the table in his urgency. "We have absolutely no proof that it was the Romulans who did this – all those two saw were warbirds, and the security audio on Planet L-372 only proves they can speak Romulan."

_"Kirk."_ The tolerant irritation became more evident with each word that passed, but he refused to lose his composure in the face of superiority. _"You aren't making sense, defending the Romulans like that. Who else do you know that can even understand Romulan, much less speak it fluently?"_

"My First Officer and my Communications Chief, for two," he snapped back with probably less respect than the admiral's title deserved. "This is insane, accusing them of trying to wipe out the Federation starship force when they've obviously been trying to salvage relations with us for the last year after that crap Nero pulled. If we declare war on the Romulan Empire over this –"

_"_We_ will not be doing anything of the kind, _Captain_, if it will indeed be war declared,"_ the admiral emphasized the title with dangerous harshness. "_And _you_ will do as you are ordered, no more and no less. Am I clear?"_

"Quite clear, sir," he responded through clenched teeth.

_"And you would do well to remember what these Romulans are responsible for costing us, and act accordingly, instead of spending your time spinning fanciful innocent-until-proven-guilty-by-eyewitness fairy tales,"_ the man censured sternly.

"With all due respect, sir –"

_"You will follow orders, Kirk, and that is _all_ you will do; did we not make that clear enough upon your acceptance of the _Enterprise_'s captaincy?"_ The ice in the tone froze everyone at the conference table, a counterbalance to the burn of mortification spreading across his face at the open censure.

"You did, sir." He swallowed, dry throat muscles rasping against each other.

Cartwright's harsh features softened. _"Kirk, we just can no longer afford to be trusting,"_ he said gently, but with an edge of unyielding firmness. _"We cannot afford to lose the _Enterprise_ as well as the _Constellation_. Your orders are to break orbit and return immediately to the nearest Federation outpost."_

"What about the plague on Cerulea?" he asked, trying desperately to hold together his command image and force neutrality into his voice.

_"In all probability the plague will cease once the _Enterprise_ has escaped the trap."_

"But what if it doesn't?" he asked, eyes wide with incredulity. "We're almost to the point of a breakthrough in the inoculation – if you take us away from Cerulea then you're just gambling that all those people won't die!"

_"That will _do_, Captain,"_ the admiral snapped, so harshly that Sulu, seated on the other side of the table, jumped, banging his knee on the underside of the duotronium. _"Your orders are not up for debate or interpretation. Break orbit immediately and return to the nearest outpost by the shortest possible route. Understood?"_

"Understood," he forced out with as much grace as he could manage.

Cartwright looked skeptically at him for his tone, but said nothing more before terminating the message.

He sat, staring at the blank screen, until Bones's hand descended on his shoulder.

"Dismissed, gentlemen," he ordered coldly. "Make preparations to break orbit; Mr. Spock and I will join you shortly."

Casting him dubious looks but wisely refraining from asking questions, his staff filed out of the briefing room. Bones squeezed his shoulder once, and he looked up for a moment, meeting the concerned gaze with a pathetically grateful nod. Finally the physician sent a pointed glare toward his First, and stalked out of the briefing room.

When the doors had closed behind the retreating figure, he lowered his face into his hands and began rubbing gently at the skin around his eyes, trying to ward off the onset of another headache. "Mr. Spock, I would appreciate it if you would take the conn until we break orbit," he said with a sigh.

"Aye, sir." The answer was instant, reassuring for all its calm serenity, but there was an underlying question hidden in its depths and he did not miss the fact.

Spock deserved to know, anyway. He looked up, but kept his gaze carefully on nothing in particular around the room. "Matt Decker was an Academy friend," he muttered reluctantly and worried at his lower lip as the remembrances fell into place. "He and Gary Mitchell…Gary was on the _Farragut_, Spock…we were pretty close until the Command track took Matt and me away from Gary, and then we got so busy we rarely saw each other. (4) He…he just graduated six months ago, Spock; went an extra semester for increased Command training so he could get the _Constellation_." He swallowed, and looked down at the table where his nervously twitching fingers had interlaced unconsciously. "You'll understand if I need a moment to assimilate this, Commander."

Spock stood, and nodded; he could tell that much without looking up. Then the warm presence at his shoulder shifted a fraction closer, and he looked up.

The Vulcan appeared slightly uncomfortable, staring at the wall in apparent deliberation. Finally he spoke, but forewent any trite words of sympathy which they both knew were understood. "Captain…for what it is worth to you, I do believe the Romulans are behind the attacks on the Federation; other races which stand to gain from the Federation's space force being dissolved do not have the resources to carry out a widespread attack on the starships of the Fleet."

Way to make a guy feel better, Spock, agree with the higher-ups who just chewed you out in front of your crew. His shoulders slumped, his eyes closed in weariness.

"Nevertheless," Spock continued, completely oblivious, "I also believe your trust, and your intelligence in recognizing the danger of instant assignation of blame, to be far more desirable a characteristic in a leader than that of unjustly chastising a leader in front of his subordinates."

He blinked, trying to process the fact that his by-the-book, side-with-the-authority-always Vulcan had just basically said he was a better leader than a Starfleet Admiral, and if he didn't know better he'd say Spock was thoroughly ticked off on his behalf.

Spock's back was up over something, definitely; he could tell from the fact that both eyebrows were clenched together in mutual I-want-to-choke-something-ness just above his dark eyes.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain."

"Like you're not going to," he chuckled faintly. "You know I prefer it, anyway, Spock."

"Then I believe I must say that I highly disapprove, in part, of your attitude during this entire investigation, sir."

Okaaaay, that was new. "My…attitude?"

"Affirmative."

"Specify."

Spock fidgeted – he actually fidgeted, twitched one finger slowly against the weave of his tunic before stiffening and stilling the motion after realization. "Your…seeming acceptance of what you believe to be fact; namely, that you are no more than a glorified puppet captain."

He flinched, for that hit way too close to home to be anything but painful. "Spock…look, I –"

"It is not true," his First insisted earnestly, glaring at him as if to physically bore the information into his thick skull.

"It is, for the most part," he sighed, shaking his head. "You heard Cartwright. They can't afford to lose another starship. Captains are a dime a dozen, especially the ones that carry the kind of baggage I do – don't bother to protest, Spock; we both know the truth – but starships are precious right now. They're more concerned with the loss of the _Constellation_ than with the loss of her crew, I think." He had tried to keep the bitterness from his tone but, judging from the look in Spock's eyes, hadn't succeeded very well. "I know full well just how valuable – or not so much – I am to Starfleet, Commander," he muttered. "Since when is acknowledging the truth an attitude that would gather your disapproval?"

"Since it is based upon a completely faulty premise, Captain," was the retort, and darned if that wasn't just a twitch of icy fire in the cool words.

"How so?"

Spock's eyes darkened in intensity. "You are no puppet captain, sir. You are a highly intelligent human who, by reason of ability and instinct, more than deserves the chair in which he sits. That is why the _Enterprise_ is the flagship of the Federation, Captain. A puppet can command a starship; but a puppet will not, and cannot, command _respect_."

Warmth spread gently out in his chest, melting some of the icy pain that had frozen there in the last quarter-hour.

"Um…sheesh, Spock." Well, that was eloquent.

"Indeed." The Vulcan looked ridiculously smug, as if proud of the fact that he had managed to say something emotional without compromising himself and as a bonus managed to shut his captain up for a good thirty seconds. "I will see to the pre-disengaging procedures. Sir."

He waited until Spock's pert little boot-heel cleared the automatic doors before he began to giggle like a freaking _girl_, partly out of genuine amusement and partly out of not-well-repressed hysterics.

Bones had better go with that last, anyway, in his medical report; otherwise the hypo of calm-the-heck-down-Jim wasn't anywhere _near_ worth the pain involved.

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Eight**  
(1) The _Potemkin_ is first seen in the TOS universe in _The_ _Ultimate Computer_ (where it was damaged by the M-5 attack and nearly destroyed, limping away with severe casualties), and is mentioned the _Turnabout Intruder_. It was also the ship which transferred the strobolin to the _Huron_ in the TAS episode _Pirates of Orion_, to get the medicine to the _Enterprise_ to save Spock's life from choriocytosis.  
(2) The _Defiant_ is the ship which went missing in Tholian space and later slipped for good into interphase, taking Captain Kirk with it in _The Tholian Web_ after they discovered the entire crew dead.  
(3) Again, I'm trying to tie in some continuity here with ships of the line being destroyed in the parallel universes. The _Constellation_ is the ship commanded by Matt Decker in _The Doomsday Machine_. Its crew was lost on the fifth planet in the L-370 system when the DM attacked, and then the ship itself was lost when Captain Kirk flew it into the DM itself. Captain Decker attempted to destroy the DM previously by flying a shuttle into it, but died unsuccessful in his attempt. Decker and Kirk were old friends, on a first-name basis in that episode.  
(4) Lieutenant-Commander Gary Mitchell was Kirk's initial First Officer, killed in what is traditionally referred to as the _Enterprise_'s shakedown cruise in the TOS pilot episode, _Where No Man Has Gone Before._


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Nine_**

Half an hour later, they broke orbit, cautiously and smoothly and with a close eye on their aft viewers.

Four minutes after they began the retreat, a Romulan Warbird appeared off their port nacelle before their sensors had even had a chance to recalibrate.

Jim picked himself up off the deck after the initial phaser blast, shouting orders before the smoke had even cleared from the now-sparking Environmental Control console.

"Shields at seventy-four percent and dropping!" someone shouted over the red alert klaxon, off to his left somewhere.

Another blast sent personnel scrambling to hold on to their stations as the ship lurched sickeningly. Three full seconds of stomach-churning nausea indicated the inertial dampeners flickering, hurling the gravity levels aboard into a series of spikes before they leveled out.

"Shields at forty-three percent!"

"Scotty, why did we not go to warp?" he bellowed into the armrest-comm.

_"Captain, with all the ionic interference from that blasted blue star disruptin' the intermix formula, we have t'get far enough away from the Cerulean system before we kin jump to maximum!"_

"Well, that sucks," he muttered, bracing his feet as another blast rocked the ship beneath him.

"Shields at thirty-five percent, Captain," Chekov warned.

"Helm sluggish…check the navigational systems, there's something wrong here," Sulu snapped. His fingers danced over the controls, searching, trying to regain full power over his console.

"Captain," Spock's voice, hitherto silent under fire but now tight with tension, pierced the chaos of damage control and sliced right to the heart of the bridge. "Something has been introduced into the _Enterprise_'s central processing units. Systems sluggish and growing more so. Our shields have been compromised to the extent that certain non-organic materials could have been transported aboard."

"Not –"

"Nothing biological, sir, at this juncture," Spock hastened to clarify, though his eyes showed no relief over the matter, "but I suspect a technological virus of some kind." He glanced at the console, and then smoothly stepped over to peer into the scanner readouts at his elbow. Finally he turned back around, face grim. "The _Enterprise_'s central computer appears to be shutting down, sir."

"It…**_what?_**" he nearly shouted in his sudden panic flare-up. "I don't care what you have to shut down or blow up in the process, but don't let that happen!"

Spock didn't bat an eye. "Aye, sir. Ensign Chekov, your assistance if you please."

"Sir." The young Russian threw his station to the nearest replacement and dove under the library console as Spock began pulling up encoding windows, trying to track down the virus.

"Bypass the central circuits if possible to isolate the uninfected areas, Ensign. I am capable of rewriting the most vital programs from memory if necessary…" Spock's fingers were a blur of motion, and for a minute there was an almost amusing silence as the two geniuses sped through a series of failsafes in an effort to check the virus running rampant through their supercomputer.

"Need the help of an experienced hacker?" Jim asked, only half-joking.

"Negative; it is not skill that is necessary at this juncture but rather speed…the virus is spreading far too rapidly," Spock's voice was muffled in his scanner as he watched sensor readings, both hands typing furiously without looking at the screens.

A sick feeling began to grow in Jim's stomach, crawling in a nauseous string up the back of his throat.

"Captain, I've lost all navigational control," Chekov's replacement spoke up nervously.

"Shields are nearly non-existent, sir," Ramon, the Engineering lieutenant at station, added, a tinge of panic flickering in his voice as nervous fingers hovered over the unresponsive controls.

He heard a Russian expletive from under Spock's legs, and gripped the armrests of his chair.

"Lieutenant, get me reports from all central systems aboard," he spoke up after a tense moment, but Uhura was already turning toward him.

Her face told him the bad news before the actual words. "Sir, systems are still functional all over the ship but they are no longer in our control," she reported quietly.

_"Captain, I've just lost all control of the warp coil intermix – I canna move a thing down here and she's shutting down as we speak!"_

"Sir, manual piloting has been disabled," Sulu added his voice reluctantly to the mix.

"Voice override, Captain's authorization alpha-one-one-four-alpha-one!"

_"Access denied."_

"Get out a distress call before we lose communications too!" he snapped frantically, but a moment later his Comms Chief shook her head in regret.

"Spock?" _You're_ _my last hope here, buddy…_

The Vulcan straightened up at last, something close to embarrassment flooding his features. "Sir, I have managed to isolate the life-support systems and protect them with a firewall from the virus…but all else has been disengaged from our control."

"And you can't override it?" he asked incredulously. "It's just a matter of isolating the line of code and deleting it from essential systems, splicing and patching where necessary!"

"Ve haf isolated the code, Keptin; zhis is not zhe problem now. Zhe virus has locked out all commands other than zhose from the auxiliary control bridge, sir," Chekov reported dismally as he scrambled back to his feet, shaking his head at an unsuccessful bypass attempt. "If we could get down zhere, we might be able to override it at the source, but we cannot bypass the infected areas from zhese terminals here. Eet is a Romulan jamming lock, in essence, zhat is what the virus is; we can break it vith time and effort, but not from zhe Bridge now zhat zhey have locked us out."

"Why the – oh, no. Transporter capability?"

"No longer under our control, Captain," Spock replied evenly.

He could probably be forgiven the swearing he did in front of ladies, especially since one of them could out-cuss him in fifteen separate languages _and_ beat the crap out of him if she really wanted to.

"Sir, I'm picking up weird energy readings in the lower decks," an ensign called out nervously, her voice ringing shrill in the deathly silence.

He had just enough time to panic before the biohazard alert shrieked a warning, and all hell broke loose.

-

The next few minutes were a blur, but at that precise moment Time stopped, or at least slowed to that particular, mind-numbing crawl that only made the impact of death when it hit that much more painful.

There was a canister of the virus in his ship. On the Auxiliary Control Bridge. And the only way to regain control of the ship was to enter the Bridge and input the correct override codes, break the jamming lock the Romulans had established. They couldn't beam the canister out, couldn't go to warp to escape the Warbird off their port bow, couldn't even signal a surrender to the Romulan ship even if they had contemplated it, with all controls locked out as they were. In ten minutes the ventilation shafts to the AC Bridge would open, Spock could tell that much from the overwriting taking place in their processing core, and would then spread the virus throughout the ship, infecting and killing everyone aboard. Those vents could only be closed by the controls inside the AC Bridge itself.

And no one could step foot into Auxiliary Control without dying within thirty seconds, maybe a lucky minute at the most, from being exposed to the virus; no human, no matter how quickly he moved, would be able to perform the re-coding and unlock the ship's computer before succumbing in agony, finally dying.

Wait.

No human could, no.

He felt suddenly nauseous, and must have looked it, because Uhura took a step forward, asking him if he were all right. Sick and dizzy, he placed his hands on the dividing rail to steady himself; the image of a glass wall flickered into his memory, clouded glass from radi_ation, hands pressed futilely against it, can't touch the person on the other side, grief and pain so crippling he never would entirely get over the loss _–

"Captain." Spock's voice, close in his ear, and a hand on his arm was shaking him vigorously.

He started, gasped for a breath like a drowning man, and forced the memory back into its dark corner. He knew what it was, knew what had happened, had even asked for particulars once when the vision was especially strong, months ago. (1)

And he knew what he had to do.

"Walk with me," he whispered, and entered the lift without looking back.

He knew, somehow, that Spock would know he was speaking to him and would follow; ten seconds later the doors closed on the Bridge and they were descending.

"Captain?"

The inquiry was gentle, obviously guarded, but he couldn't quite answer yet, because if he did he'd probably dissolve into a gut-wrenching, sobbing mess right here when he had to be Captain over anything else. He couldn't do this, couldn't ask Spock to do this, but they were all going to die, all four hundred and thirty of them (2), his whole ship, and –

"Jim, please. What is it?"

He started at the hand that descended hesitantly on his shoulder, and blinked up into earnest dark eyes.

He would never forgive himself, but it had to be done, even if it was like cutting his heart out string by string, betraying all he held dear and sacred and desecrating it with the impurity of Duty.

"Spock…" He slammed a hand on the override button, halting the lift with more force than necessary. "Spock, we're in trouble."

"I am aware, Captain," was the reply, devoid of any humor that might have appeared at another time.

He was half-afraid he was going to start hyperventilating if he finished this, but he had to. "Spock," he swallowed viciously around the object stuck in his throat, "someone has to get into the Auxiliary Control Bridge and retake the ship. We've tried everything else, and even you and I can't reprogram an override from the Bridge or any other relay terminal."

Spock nodded slowly; no doubt he'd already run through every possibility in the two minutes they'd had, and had discarded all of them as invalid and impossible.

"Someone has to get in there, Spock," he said through clenched teeth. "Someone who can enter the right codes in the amount of time he would have before the virus kills him."

"The virus kills within thirty seconds; that has been proven, Captain," Spock reminded him.

"I know. It…it kills a _human_, within thirty seconds. And no human, however fast, can release the computer in thirty seconds," he finished, dread settling deep in his stomach and curling upward to wrap cold tendrils around his heart. They only had five minutes; nowhere near long enough to get into an EV suit.

Spock was the most brilliant mind aboard; it didn't take him long to connect the dots.

They didn't make a pretty picture, that was for certain.

"There is no guarantee that I will have much longer than thirty seconds, Captain, if that," Spock finally said, voice nearly a whisper.

He'd closed his eyes by now, unable to look at the man he was betraying so completely, so heartlessly, unable to see if Spock accepted this as duty, or knew how badly Jim wished thirty seconds was enough or else he'd have been down there long ago, doing it himself.

"I will have longer, due to being able to control how fast the virus spreads throughout my nervous system – but I know not how much longer, Captain. There is no guarantee I would succeed in releasing the computer before succumbing."

Bile rose in his stomach, burning an acidic streak of fire all the way up to his throat.

"I…I need you to try," he finally managed to choke out without being sick everywhere.

Silence.

"You're the only one aboard who even has a prayer of succeeding," he whispered, eyes still clenched tightly shut against the pain that burned behind his corneas. "If I could do it, I'd do it in a heartbeat – but I can't. Spock, if you can save this ship, the four hundred people aboard her…I need you to take that chance."

A short pause, filled only with two sets of slightly-accelerated breathing. Then –

"Understood, Captain." There was no accusation in the tone, no indication that his First had just calmly accepted a painful, agonizing death sentence – one that guaranteed he would not even live long enough to see if his sacrifice had been successful in saving his crewmates. No bitterness that his Vulcan blood and heritage were this time going to cost him his life, through no fault of his own.

No reproach for the guy Destiny said would be his closest friend, knowingly sending him to his death.

"Computer, resume lift functions."

How could Spock be so _calm_ about it?

Blinking, he swore softly as one of the stinging tears he was fighting to suppress stealthily trickled out from behind an eyelid. They'd both lost _so much_, why did they have to lose this too? He slapped furiously at the moisture, dashing it away before his First could see; emotional displays were the last thing Spock needed to focus on right now. How did you prepare for dying in so short a time?

He inhaled suddenly. "Spock!"

"Yes, Jim?" was the quiet response.

He could have laughed, bitterly, that now of all times the Vulcan had apparently decided to call him by his name and not his title.

"Your _katra_," he blurted, not knowing if he was breaking a cultural taboo by mentioning it and not even sure what he could or should do if he wasn't. He just barely remembered something about it being crucial to a Vulcan soul's being preserved for an afterlife or some such mystical jargon. "Doesn't it…need to be taken to your father, on New Vulcan?"

Spock's eyebrow rose, and for the first time their eyes met, briefly, before his First looked away. "Were you to carry it for me, you would be emotionally compromised beyond your ability to capably command this ship, Captain," the Vulcan intoned without expression. "And to escape the Romulans, the _Enterprise_ will require you to be at peak efficiency in the event of an unforeseen emergency."

"Peak efficiency be da-"

"I will not endanger this ship," Spock replied, staring straight ahead. "To do so would defeat the purpose of my actions prior to my death."

The word hit him like a blow to the stomach, and he leaned against the wall of the lift, a shaking hand over his face. "So what you're saying…is that not only am I sending you to your death, I'm also condemning your soul to die along with you," he whispered brokenly. "I can't even give you that!"

"Jim." A cool hand closed around his wrist, gently tugging his hand away from his face. He blinked his eyes clear to see Spock's calm features a few inches from his own. "To know that you – that the _Enterprise_ and all aboard her will be saved by virtue of my sacrifice, makes that sacrifice quite worth the expenditure."

The slight slip hadn't been lost on him, but he was fast losing control of any rational thought as the chime of the lift began to count down the floors to the Auxiliary Control Deck, which had been evacuated already by a Code Blue, a biocontaminent alert.

"If I could only have just –"

"No," Spock said gently, stilling him with his free hand upon the gold shoulder. "No regrets, Jim."

Nodding, he swallowed hard. Twice. And then Spock released him, stepped backward toward the door as the lift slowed.

"I'll get us out of here, I swear it," he vowed, wishing that his voice could be steady but knowing it simply wasn't possible. "It won't be in vain, I promise you that, Spock."

"I have never doubted you, Captain, even when you most doubted yourself," Spock replied, eyes directly fastened upon his face, for once losing that stern rein of control – they were a warm, deep brown now, speaking more clearly than the words. "You may believe that you are mediocre in ability or simply a convenient excuse for a captain, and Starfleet in its ignorance may possibly believe it to some extent as well – but you are neither. You are a skilled leader, and a highly capable commander, one who will make his mark in history, as it should be. To serve under you has been a privilege and an honor, Captain Kirk."

Okay, so he really was crying now, although it was more like just two tears seeping out the corner of one eye than all-out bawling like he really wanted to do.

"Spock…" he whispered hopelessly, as the lift ground to a halt – too soon, far too soon! "I'm – so sorry."

"No regrets, Jim," was the gentle reminder, and Spock raised a hand in the familiar _ta'al_. Their eyes met once more, and for the first and last time he saw a small, affectionate smile form on his First's impassive face – the one Old Spock always gave him, the one he had wished for so long to see on his own Spock's lips.

The doors opened onto the deserted deck, eerily lit by flashing blue alert lights.

"Live long and prosper, my friend," Spock whispered, and the next instant he was gone around the corner.

The doors closed, and he stared at them for a moment, hand still upraised in farewell. While he'd have liked nothing better than to curl up on the floor and cry himself into a coma, he had only one minute, two tops, before Spock would be in position before the Auxiliary Control Bridge doors. If Spock was successful, they'd have to warp out of here like a bat out of hell, and even then it'd be tricky going with that Warbird.

Also, punching the tritanium wall of the lift as hard as he could? Not a good idea.

But by everything he held dear, in any universe – he wasn't going to let Spock's death be in vain.

Fists clenched, he scrubbed his sleeve across his throbbing eyes and glared at the control panel before him.

"Bridge."

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Nine**  
(1) Referencing _The Wrath of Khan_ (ST:II)  
(2) The TOS NCC-1701 had a crew complement of 432; 430 plus Kirk and Spock. I'm keeping the numbers the same for sake of continuity; though I suspect the XI _Enterprise_ was designed to hold more crew, I doubt the ship was at full capacity due to lack of personnel. 


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten_**

His crew's heads all snapped up when he returned to the Bridge, too-knowing eyes growing worried when he stepped out of the lift alone. They would all be hurting soon, as badly as he was probably, but he didn't have the time to deal with them right now.

Plus he wasn't in any shape to do anything; he briefly wondered if Spock's katra would really have emotionally compromised him more than he was right now.

But he couldn't afford to be, he realized with a cold stab of fear. He had to put it out of his mind, at least until they were out of danger.

Easier said than done.

"All hands," he snapped into the intra-comm, ignoring the concerned looks he got from the consoles around him.

_"McCoy here,"_ he was interrupted. _ "What're we lookin' at, Captain?"_

"In a minute, Bones." He pressed the ship-wide instead of private line again. "We're getting out of here, people," he said to the ship at large, receiving incredulous stares in return from the nearest crewmen. "All hands prepare for emergency warp jump. Be at your stations, ready to assume positions as soon as the lock on the ship's computer is broken."

_"Captain, we'll have exactly eighteen seconds before the computer's relays will reset down here,"_ Montgomery Scott's excitable voice chimed in.

"Shave off some of those seconds if you can, and prepare photon torpedoes; we'll just have to play with the Warbird a little before we can get out of here."

_"Aye, sir."_

_"Jim, what in heaven's name are we doing? That canister –"_

"Bones," he interrupted, fighting down a wave of nausea. "I need you to get an emergency med team down to Auxiliary Control. EV suits for all of you, and don't waste any time about it. We're going to have to quarantine that deck until we figure out that cure, but I'll need you down there as soon as you can get there."

_"We're gettin' closer to figuring out how to neutralize the virus, but then why –"_

"Spock's going in to break the lock on the computer."

Horrified gasps echoed around him as he spoke the death sentence.

_"Jim, he'll die!"_

"I know." He _knew_, so painfully. "It's the only way to save the ship. He thinks he can last long enough to break the lock. We'll have to decon the whole deck, but…I don't want him left in there. Get in there, and have Scotty beam you straight to Sickbay for decontamination as soon as systems are unlocked; five minutes isn't long enough for the virus to penetrate the EV suits so you should be fine."

The deathly silence that blanketed the Bridge was frightening, more so even than the shocked stillness on the other end of the comm.

_"I'll get him out, Jim,"_ came the quiet promise at last, and he signed off without another word – because he doubted he could give one.

Ten seconds later, they all stiffened, as a familiar voice echoed around the bridge.

_"Spock to Bridge. I am in position outside Auxiliary Control."_

He didn't realize how hard he was biting his lip until he tasted blood, sour and acidic on his stomach. He nearly broke the comm-button with his thumb. "Bridge here. Acknowledged."

He heard a quiet sniffle coming from behind him, and knew Uhura was crying and trying to not make a show of it; she understood the cost as he did, but that didn't make it any easier. Even if they weren't dating anymore, she still loved Spock and, he knew to some extent, Spock still loved her in his own weird way.

He turned the chair toward his Comms Chief, and motioned to the armrest.

The disbelieving, grateful look he received made him feel marginally less like the horrible traitor he was.

"Spock?"

_"…Lieutenant."_ It was an indication, a reminder of duty, but a gentle one. _"Are you well?"_

She choked on a watery laugh. "As can be expected, _Commander_."

_"I am…gratified. Please inform the captain that if he does not remove the ship intact from this situation I shall, as the expression goes, _come back to haunt him_."_

Jim's laugh combined with Uhura's and turned into something so suspiciously sob-like that everyone turned to look, causing him to immediately snap back into full command mode, and ignore the ache settling in his heart.

"Un…understood," he murmured, and turned the chair back to face the Romulan Warbird on the viewscreen. "Engineering, synchronize with Mr. Spock. Sulu, be ready to warp us out of here at all speed. Chekov, plot a course as far away from here as we can get in the ten seconds we can stay at Warp Seven, and as soon as you have photon torpedoes locked on that ship take out its navigation section, then Engineering – but steer clear of their warp reactor chamber."

"Sir?"

"_Constellation_ or no _Constellation_, destroying that Warbird will only further the tension between the Romulans and the Federation," he clarified. "We're not going to destroy it unless we have to." _Even if they're costing me my First Officer, and they've cost us so much already_. "Disable its weapons and navigation, and we can send reinforcements back for it if it doesn't tuck tail and run back to the Neutral Zone."

"Aye, Keptin," the young Russian answered, fingers flying over the controls.

_"Engineering synchronized. We'll hit Warp Seven, maybe a bit better, eighteen seconds after ye break the codes, Mr. Spock."_

_"Acknowledged. Captain."_

"Yes, Spock."

_"I…believe I have never offered you an apology for the incident with the Kobayashi Maru."_

"…Come again?" he gaped, surprise for the moment filtering out the surreality of this whole nightmare.

_"You were correct, Captain, in not believing in no-win scenarios. This is in itself proof."_

He opened his mouth to answer, fumbled for a moment, and couldn't quite find what to say since this was so not a win by any stretch. By the time he thought of something, it was too late.

_"On my mark, Mr. Scott. Godspeed, gentlemen, and as you humans would say, good luck. Spock out."_

His fingers reflexively reached in panic for the intercom, but pulled back at the last second, knowing the opportunity had passed in favor of what must be done.

The Bridge was eerily, utterly quiet, as they monitored the instruments, waiting for an indication of the inevitable.

"Incoming transmission from the Romulan ship, Captain." Uhura's voice was controlled, but tight with tension and grief.

"Ignore it."

"But sir –"

"I said ignore it, Lieutenant. Chekov?"

"He ees halfway through zhe sequences, sir," the young man reported nervously, tugging at the collar of his tunic. "Sixty-three percent…nawigational systems released…Sickbay lockdown released…sewenty-eight percent…eighty-three percent…ventilation ducts sealed in Auxiliary Control…"

Jim let out the breath he had been holding; now he at least knew the rest of the ship would be safe until they could pipe the anti-virus into the room to kill the thing.

"…Eighty-sewen percent…ninety-two percent…"

"Lock torpedoes."

"Torpedoes locked."

"Course calculated, sir, and waiting for your order," Sulu murmured.

"Captain, the Warbird has ceased transmitting," Uhura's sharp tone pierced the countdown.

Chekov's finger hovered over the photon torpedo launch. "Ninety-six percent…helm released, sair…ninety-nine…Full control released!"

"Fire torpedoes!" he snapped. "Shields at maximum. Scotty, get us moving as fast as you can."

"Torpedoes avay, sir!"

A brilliant burst of crimson exploded on the viewscreen; the Warbird had been so certain of its plan that the idea of the _Enterprise_ regaining control of its central processing core in time to do any damage had never occurred to it. The Romulans' shields had not even been fully raised after beaming over the virus-riddled canister.

_"Warp drive online, Captain!"_ Scott's shout filled the Bridge, and Sulu's hands were moving even before he barked the order.

The stars shivered, vibrated, and then streaked away into hyperspace.

"Zhe Warbird began to follow at Warp Two, sir," Chekov reported breathlessly, curly head bent over Spock's scanner, "but…zhey were forced to halt pursuit. Ve are clear, sir."

Lips pressed tightly together, he hammered the comm-switch in his armrest. "Kirk to Auxiliary Control," he managed to speak the words without his voice cracking, a major accomplishment.

No answer.

"Spock…Spock, if you can hear me, it worked. We're clear…" when no answer was forthcoming, he swallowed, tried to not look at the crew who were watching him, horror-stricken as the full impact suddenly gripped them. "You did it, Commander," he finally whispered, finger slowly falling from the switch.

He was gone. Spock was gone.

How ironic was that, he thought to himself bitterly. Ambassador Spock's Jim Kirk had died long ago, and now his Spock had. So much for legendary friendships, for love conquering all the forces of the universe like storybooks always said it did.

Destiny. Why he had ever believed in it, he had no idea. It seemed in any universe, Destiny got a kick out of killing the most loyal being Jim Kirk had ever known.

"Captain. Captain?"

"Log Commander Spock in the ship's log as deceased in the performance of his duty, Lieutenant," he responded without looking at her. "Prepare a status report to Starfleet on the disabled Romulan ship; suggest sending a border patrol to see that they really do re-cross back into the Neutral Zone."

"Acknowledged. Sir, Dr. McCoy has requested transport to iso/decon in Sickbay," she said softly. "He said…to tell you it was all over quickly, at least."

Cold ice filled his gut, wrenching pain from him that nothing could dispel. He had saved his ship, his crew – at such a cost! He had taken an oath as a Starfleet captain, and had sworn to stay by it; the _Enterprise_ meant more to him than anything else, as it should be.

More, apparently, than the life of his gallant, brilliant First Officer.

What kind of a man _was_ he, to make that kind of a choice?

"Mr. Spock was a brave man to volunteer to do that," Sulu murmured from in front of him.

His hands clenched, causing the leather of the armrests to creak in protest and every eye to look at him. The atmosphere was choking him; he had to get out, to run like the coward he truly was, from the knowledge that he'd just as good as murdered a man. But first, he had to tell the crew the truth; they deserved at least that much, to know what a horribly calloused person he really could be, to send an innocent man to die, to select one to sacrifice in order to save many.

His voice was flat, cold, expressionless as a Vulcan's even; because if he didn't adopt that kind of control he wouldn't make it through the next few minutes. "He didn't volunteer."

"He…vhat?" Chekov's trusting eyes were wide with confusion.

"Commander Spock did not volunteer to enter the Auxiliary Bridge and release the computer, exposing himself to the virus in the process," he repeated. "I sent him in."

"You…" Uhura apparently couldn't finish the sentence, but the grief flashing through her gorgeous dark eyes hit him straight through the heart.

He nodded in miserable agreement, accepting full blame for the murder of his crewman. "I am responsible; he wouldn't refuse me that which I asked. I sent him in to die, to save this ship and her four hundred and thirty crew."

"Indeed you did, James," a voice exclaimed suddenly, and with a blinding flash of light a familiar being stood before him, clad this time in the blue uniform of a science officer.

The moment realization struck and comprehension dawned, he had dived across the Bridge and smashed a fist into the Omnipotent's face before the being could even blink.

"Here now, _mon capitaine_," Q exclaimed, bouncing back up to his feet to glare at his opponent. Kirk was fairly vibrating with suppressed rage, constricted chest heaving for breath that wouldn't be dragged in, wishing more than anything that he could kill a supposed deity and how _dare_ he desecrate that uniform by wearing it on his Bridge –

Q dusted himself off with a gesture of disgust. "Ugh, you mortals and your therapeutic need for violence. Quite disgusting. I don't feel pain, you know."

"You – this was _your_ doing!" he snarled, fists clenched so tightly he thought he might break his own fingers. "_This_ was your test – for me! You were testing _me_, and it cost Spock his life!"

"Ah, but you see, friend James," the being spoke, voice soothing, almost placating. "That was the entire point of the test."

"Captain," Uhura's voice, close behind him, and two slim hands were steadying him on the shoulders. His boiling brain fizzled slightly at the knowledge that she was actually touching him other than slapping him across the face, but the pressure increased briefly. "He wouldn't want you to lose control like this, sir, not in front of your crew," she whispered in his ear, so lightly that the words didn't carry, and then she returned to her seat, looking pointedly back at him.

He took in a heaving breath, closed his eyes for a moment. Then, deliberately seating himself in the captain's chair, he pushed all thoughts of pointed ears and insufferable brilliance and midnight chess tournaments and adorable patronizing eyebrows and scientific pain-in-the-neck accuracy out of his head.

"Explain." The low growl was both a request, and a threat, if one could threaten an Omnipotent.

"Your universe's fate was dependent, as we agreed, upon your being able to prove that you, James Tiberius Kirk, are a better captain than your Prime Universe's counterpart."

"Better captain," he snorted bitterly. "I just sent my best friend and First Officer to his death. I'm pretty sure that disqualifies me."

"_Au contraire_, friend James," and Q disappeared, re-appearing an instant later right beside him, in the place Spock was accustomed to standing when they were making conference calls to 'Fleet HQ. "That is exactly what _does_ qualify you."

"I…wait, you mean I passed the test?"

"You did." The being smiled, and for once he couldn't see any animosity in the expression.

"But…I don't see how –"

"My own universe's James Kirk was indeed a brilliant captain, James. But he did have his weaknesses. You will remember our terms – you were to prove you are a better captain than he?"

"And?"

"A better captain, James," Q clarified, waving a hand dramatically. "Not a better man; a better _captain_."

Realization struck him like a ton of brick, and he slumped in the chair, stunned.

"Um…question?" Sulu's hand went up as if he were a cadet in a classroom again.

Q turned, rolled his eyes ceiling-ward. "Yes, you in the gold. D'Artagnan, is it?" (1)

Sulu had his _not-amused-and-you-are-about-to-become-sushi_ face on. "How, exactly, did he prove that he's a better captain than your James Kirk?"

"What's the first duty of a captain, Sulu?" Kirk asked wearily.

They'd been over this hundreds of times; Sulu had been interested in the command track as well as Piloting in the Academy. "To protect and preserve his ship and his crew at all costs," he responded promptly. "The ship comes first, always."

"Indeed, always. At _all_ costs. Even if those costs are very dear indeed," Q clarified before Kirk could interject, and the sweeping wave of realization dropped like a blanket over the room. "You chose wisely, James, and in doing so saved your universe from destruction."

"So I've proven I'm a better captain than your James Kirk, because I'm able to murder a man to save my ship and he never did. Just freaking wonderful." He would never believe in Destiny again, if the choices foisted upon him were all a part of its twisted plan for the universe.

"No," Q answered. "You are a better captain than my universe's James Kirk because you put your ship before your closest friend. While your Primary Universe's counterpart did at one time choose to send his First Officer into a space amoeba, a near-suicide mission, there was no certain guarantee that he would die, and not in so painful a way. (2) No, we are speaking of a different event entirely. You are aware of the events which killed the Vulcan you refer to as Ambassador Spock?"

"Yes…"

"To send him into the warp core reactor room would never have occurred to my James Kirk. And if it had, he would never have ordered it or permitted it; which is why your Ambassador left the Bridge without informing anyone of his intentions during their battle for the Genesis device." (3)

Great. So his _heartlessness_ was what made him a better captain, supposedly. Wonderful. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face and tried shakily to ignore the pounding in his head.

One year. He'd had one beautiful year of everything being so _right_. He should have known it was too good to last; that was the story of his life.

"Now that I've passed your test, will you leave my universe alone?" he finally hissed, unable to fight against the crippling anger any longer. If the being would just leave, he could turn command over to Scotty, get down to Sickbay to say goodbye to Spock and then drink himself hopefully well into the next day…or week, that sounded good too…

Q nodded. "A bargain is a bargain, James. But first." A knowing smirk creased the being's face. "There is the matter of your 'edge,' as you so called it."

His stomach twisted, sharp and nauseating. "As Spock was to make the choice, the deal is off, Q. Just…get off my ship. _Please_."

"But again," Q lowered his voice, leaned over the command chair with a satisfied smile, "you chose wisely, James. For that too was part of your test."

Tiredly, he lifted his head from his hand. "Come again?"

"The word of an Omnipotent cannot be broken, Captain. Your terms expressly stated that your First Officer make the choice I offered you."

"But he is _dead_," he snapped, not in the mood for games.

Q's smile widened. "Then that is an unfortunate situation that must be rectified, is it not?"

"An…what?"

"Had you decided you would be the more suited choice for your terms to take effect, Captain, then you would even now have failed part of that test; for your counterpart refused to relinquish control in his universe during certain circumstances, believing instead that whether his judgment was correct or not, it was to be followed without question." Q's eyes glinted. "Already, James Kirk, you have accepted the fact that your Vulcan First Officer is far wiser than you when it comes to certain matters. Humility, and realism, and the knowledge that your pride is worth far less than the importance of that responsibility which hinges upon you – a combination in which you are considerably stronger than the James Kirk of my own universe.

Your Spock and yourself are destined to be a team, not a command chain; brothers-in-arms, before the closest of friends; a co-operation, but not a symbiosis. That is where you differ from your Primary Universe counterparts, and that is precisely why you have passed this test." (4)

Jim's dwindling brain feebly tried to comprehend the enormity of what the being was blithering onward about; somewhere in that mess there was an all-important implication that he hadn't quite grasped.

Q beamed, snapping his fingers and making confetti fall through the air, coating every surface in sight with multi-colored bits of foil. Chekov sneezed, and mournfully tried to shake them out of his hair like a puppy shaking itself dry after a bath; if the situation hadn't been so horribly nightmarish, Jim would have laughed hysterically. "On both counts, you chose wisely, James Kirk. Your universe deserves to survive. And," Q added with a sly grin, "you shall have your edge."

"But Spock is…he's gone," he protested weakly, still not understanding.

"Really, you mortals have such a horrifically transient view of your own mortality," Q sniffed. "Life is simply existence, and death a changing of that existence into some other form. It is not such a huge matter to interchange the phases."

Kirk stared blankly.

The Omnipotent vented a bored sigh, and carelessly snapped his fingers.

When their eyes had adjusted after the momentary blinding of light, everyone froze.

Uhura's stifled shriek was partially muffled behind her hand, partly obscured by the inter-comm blaring in what sounded to be a thoroughly freaked-out McCoyian screech of profanities. Kirk himself rocketed to his feet, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

"Fascinating," observed the tall figure standing beside Q, raising an eyebrow at the chaos threatening to erupt around him.

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Ten**  
(1) Referencing the TOS episode _The Naked Time_; Sulu's impromptu sword-fight under the influence of the Psi2000 virus earned him a snarky "Take Mr. D'Artagnan to Sickbay" from Spock (character is of course from _The Three Musketeers_).  
(2) See the TOS episode _The Immunity Syndrome_; while the choice was extremely dangerous, it was by no means guaranteed to be deadly as TWOK or this situation was.  
(3) Again, TWOK  
(4) Q's words here are my own perception of these characters. The more I watched the XI movie and the more I studied these characters through and through, the more I realized they are, indeed, extremely different people than TOS Kirk and Spock. The first few times I watched the Reboot I hated it, and then with this fic I realized why – I was expecting them to be the TOS Kirk and Spock I love, expecting them to be _mirror_ counterparts. They are _not_; they are entirely different people, and react in entirely different ways, and have entirely different relationships; no less effective, no less meaningful, but _different_. There are glimmerings to be seen of what they could be, but they are not TOS Kirk and Spock. Once I realized that, and began to build a psychological premise accordingly, I began to love the AOS as its own universe, not as a poor copy of my beloved TOS.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Eleven_**

In the mild uproar that followed (involving calming down a half-hysterical Chief Medical Officer, who had been examining the body when it had simply disappeared from under his hand), no one saw the color drain completely from the captain's face until his legs buckled and he slumped into his chair with a dull _thwock_, shaking visibly.

"Captain?"

"Q, so help me, I swear if this is just another one of your parlor tricks I'll find some way, somehow, to blast you back into your own hell," he whispered.

Spock's eyebrows danced up into his hairline. "Q is quite correct, Captain; by his own agreement to your terms, he is required to return me to this dimension of existence, else his own word is invalid. And if his word is invalid, then so is his existence here, as he is bound by its veracity."

"And what sport would there be in returning him so he could make the decision, and then snuffing him out again?" Q asked indignantly. "_I_ for one don't want to deal with his rebellious katra for the next hundred and fifty years. Ugh. I've been there and done that, and let me tell you he gets cranky as a hula dancer on your Delta Vega after his centennial."

Still stunned, the captain could only stare, blue eyes wide, trying to take in what had just happened. Then a slow, spreading smile began to creep over his features, until his whole face seemed to glow as if he'd swallowed a star.

Spock calmly raised an eyebrow, and the bridge crew tittered, somewhat nervously.

He rose, stepped down onto the central platform, a few feet from his miraculously-resurrected First, hands outstretched. "Look, are you going to choke me or something if I try to hug you?" he asked, half-seriously. "Because I'm totally going to anyway, it's just polite to have consent first. Not to mention I really don't want to wake up in Sickbay after one of your ninja neck pinch things. Or –"

"Oh, for the love of gods," Q groaned into his hand, and with a quick gesture transported the rapidly-fidgeting Vulcan straight into the arms of his captain.

The squeak which resulted, Spock always insisted came from the understandably excited Kirk, and the captain indignantly denied ever making, and no one really found out who was responsible for the undignified sound. But whatever the cause, the laughter that broke out among the crew as Kirk threw caution (and his own safety) to the wind and hugged his squirming First, pounding him on the back with one hand, showed clearly their relief that their commander was safe and whole.

The explosion of an extremely freaked-out Chief Medical Officer onto the Bridge from the turbolift and the subsequent verbal whirlwind that resulted was sufficient to entertain even Q for the next ten minutes; but finally things had calmed down, returning to what was supposed to be normal aboard this particular ship.

Spock scooted warily out of arm's reach of the command chair, but the captain only smirked at him before turning back to Q, question clear in his eyes.

"Well, don't I even get a thank you?" the being asked, thoroughly miffed.

"For forcing me to make a choice like that? Not likely. I appreciate you keeping your word regarding our bargain, but not the test itself."

"Fair enough," Q conceded. "Then I shall give you the answers you seek, and be on my way. Spock of Vulcan, have you made your choice?"

"I have, and I have not forgotten that my decision was also a part of the bargain you struck with the captain regarding the existence of our universe," Spock said coolly, and Jim suddenly remembered that fact as well. He glared at Q, disgruntled, as Spock continued. "My choice, no doubt, constitutes my test; as I believe I have successfully divined the intent of said test." Sharp eyes were not swayed by the Omnipotent's scowl. "To mislead the captain regarding the test's completion was a dishonest tactic."

Q's teeth flashed in a predatory smirk. "But I never agreed to play fair, Vulcan."

"You –"

"Quiet, Captain," the being warned. "You had your chance."

"But you –"

"I will gag you, James," Q threatened, and a long cloth appeared from nowhere, dangling ominously before the incensed captain.

He subsided, glowering at the entity.

Q snapped his fingers, and the cloth disappeared. "Now then, my dear Spock. You have made your choice already, if I am not mistaken?"

"I have, Q. Based upon what I believe to be your reasoning behind this test, and after several conversations with my Primary Universe's counterpart."

"That's cheating!" the being wailed disconsolately.

"It is…utilizing every creative resource at my disposal," the Vulcan corrected. "A skill I have learned from a master of the art."

Amused eyes flickered over to where Jim sat nervously in the captain's chair, and at the words he suddenly felt warm and fuzzy all over; even if Spock probably only said them to make him feel better and to tick Q off. Behind him, he heard Bones snort in disbelief, but thankfully the physician remained silent, probably still freaked out into speechlessness by what had happened.

But then a cold chill ran through him as he really comprehended for the first time what kind of a choice Spock had to make here; and if he understood this conversation correctly, if Spock made the wrong choice then he would fail that part of the test.

But what exactly was the test?

"Decide wisely, Spock of Vulcan," the Omnipotent warned, waving a finger in the air before the two men. "For your universe now hinges upon your choice."

Spock's eyes met his for a minute, but he said nothing, letting the Vulcan think. He'd not like to have to make this choice himself; he had no idea what constituted the right choice, for one, and he wouldn't want to have to decide someone to bring back from the dead, for another. They had just lost too many people, too many good and wonderful people – how could he ever choose one, and how could he justify that choice?

"Q," Spock spoke, and the calm timber of his voice caused everyone to jump, startled. Somehow knowing he needed to be there in moral support, whether Spock wanted him to be or not, Kirk rose and instinctively settled into a position at his First's side. "Your terms did state my choice could include anyone, with no exceptions, and that they would be brought to our universe at the age in which they departed?"

"Those were the terms," was the answer, the sing-song tone sharpening with unadulterated anticipation. "Though I wouldn't recommend choosing a mass murderer or –"

"Then I have made my decision, Q."

The being gave a small wriggle of genuine excitement, and plopped himself down in the vacated captain's seat. "Do tell, Mr. Spock," he beckoned intently. "The choice is yours – and so is the destiny of all you know. If you choose incorrectly, the ramifications in your universe's Destiny could be disastrous."

He shivered, for the implications of that were staggering, but Spock's clear voice rang across the Bridge, firm in its certainty.

"Then I choose Captain James Tiberius Kirk, of _your_ universe."

* * *

For a whole minute, no one moved.

Then his brain thawed from its semi-frozen state, and he stared at his First, utterly uncomprehending. Spock could have chosen his mother, for heaven's sake, or anyone else he knew that had been lost in the Battle of Vulcan – and he picked _who?_

But Q's smile had slowly edged into a full-blown grin, and he clapped his hands in absolute glee. "Oh, well-chosen indeed, my Vulcan friend!"

"What in blue blazes is goin' on?" McCoy's irate demand rattled the nearby console.

Q whirled the command chair in the physician's direction. "Doctor, I believe your services might be needed in Sickbay right about…" he pretended to look at an invisible wrist chronometer, "…now."

_"Sickbay to Bridge,"_ the comm squawked, in Nurse Chapel's unmistakable flustered tone. _"Doctor McCoy, report please."_

"McCoy here, Nurse," the man snapped over Uhura's shoulder into the comm. "What is it?"

_"A…Doctor, a man just appeared out of thin air, sir, onto one of the bio-beds in Recovery Room Two…"_ To her credit, the nurse appeared fairly calm, even if confronted with magically appearing people in her cubicles.

"What the – I'm coming down right now," the CMO growled. "Standard decon procedure, and put him in restraints; we don't have any idea who or what he is. I'll be back to talk to you later, _Captain_," the man shot venomously over his shoulder as the lift doors closed behind him.

Shaking himself, Kirk looked back at the Omnipotent. "Is that really my other self down there?" he asked, voice rising almost a full octave in pitch.

"It is. You chose wisely, Spock," Q remarked while casually inspecting the controls in the chair's armrest, poking absently at the flashing lights. "You understood the purpose of the test."

"I believe I did," was the calm reply. "When confronted with such a decision, with such moral variables, there was simply no logical move to make. And while it would have been…pleasant," Kirk detected the slight tremor, wincing at the pain it disguised, "to select any one of the many beings we have lost throughout our lives, to do so would demean their deaths. Had I chosen George Kirk, Captain," and Spock looked apologetically at him, "it would have entirely cheapened his sacrifice at your birth. Had I chosen any of the men we have lost in this first year of our five-year mission, the same would have resulted."

"But…you could have –" He stopped himself, not wanting to cause pain by saying it, but Spock nodded for him to continue. "I don't understand," he admitted. "You could have chosen your mother, Spock."

"I could have," was the quiet reply. "But my father has, in the interests of propagating our species, already remarried. She would have no true home or the same family to return to, and I have…accepted her loss. All she knew on Vulcan has been destroyed. To return her…would do nothing but harm to all involved. Besides, to resurrect that which has been put at peace is immoral in the extreme, and highly disrespectful of that being's soul."

"And so you chose…his universe's counterpart for me, instead?" He still didn't quite get it, though he knew one thing – Spock was definitely the right man for this job, as he'd have made a completely emotional decision, without thinking of the consequences for the person he would have resurrected.

"I believe that was the first point of the exercise, was it not, Q?" Spock asked the Omnipotent, who was listening with interest to the conversation. "You wished me to acknowledge the existence of Destiny, am I correct?"

"You are," the being answered, steepling his fingers together in a gesture of quiet satisfaction. "Well done."

"But you don't believe in Destiny," he blurted out, remembering the conversations they had had on the subject.

"I…have changed my views on the subject, Captain." An uneasy look flitted across his First's features, before fading into the bland self-assurance that normally resided there. "Mainly because, I find that I _must_ believe in it. The alternative is simply…unthinkable."

He knew, somehow, that it was that conversation with Old Spock that had started that ball rolling; the words of the holo-image still rang hauntingly through his mind.

Spock was continuing his explanation. "To resurrect someone close to us would distort our lives, our destinies as they exist today; we have no idea the consequences that might result from such an action. Therefore, to not alter our own destinies, my choice must be one who would not have the chance of changing our histories."

"And the second point of the test, Commander?"

"The second point, I believe, Q, is that you wished me to prove that I am capable of making an emotional decision without compromising Vulcan principle, something my counterpart did not learn until much later in life. Correct?"

"Quite correct." Q jumped out of the chair, ignoring the shocked look on Kirk's face at that last admission, and beamed at the Bridge crew. "Gentlemen, it has been absolutely _fascinating_, but I must bid you all farewell now. I doubt that I shall have need to return to this universe, much as it breaks my heart to think of it. I shall miss you, friend James."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure you will."

"Still the skeptic, eh?" Q grinned. "No matter. You have proven beyond doubt that your universe is worthy of survival, gentlemen. I congratulate you, I really do."

"We accept your congratulations." Spock's tone clearly added _now get out of Dodge_.

"Oh, and you will find your Admiral-turned-Captain Kirk to be in fairly decent condition; but tell him he needs to lay off the complex carbohydrates if he wishes to grow old with his Ambassador?" A mischievous wink, and the Omnipotent raised a hand in farewell. "Until we meet again, Captain Kirk."

"_If_ we meet again," he retorted, folding his arms and giving a curt nod of acknowledgement.

Q's smirk widened. "You can but hope, James. You can but hope."

And with that, he was gone, leaving them all staring at each other and the empty space where he had stood.

Jim stood, stretching his spine in obvious satisfaction. "Well, that was fun," he said to no one in particular. "Mr. Spock, I'd like a word with you, if it's convenient."

"And if not?"

"My my, dying does increase your non-existent sense of humor, doesn't it?" He ignored the eyebrow-of-innocence, and motioned toward the turbolift. "C'mon, we've got some explaining to do all round."

Spock nodded. Meeting his former girlfriend's affectionate smile with a tilt of the head, he then followed closely behind his captain as they left the still-stunned crew staring after them.

"Oh, right," Jim muttered, shooting out a hand to stop the doors from closing. "Sulu, you have the conn. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." At Spock's pointed look, he smirked and amended that with "Actually, don't do anything. What, you act like I'm a kid with a new toy, Commander. Don't forget who it was just kicked a deity off his Bridge, thank you very much."

"I believe the deity and the Romulans did most of the kicking, Captain. Namely, our –"

The bridge crew waited until the doors had closed, cutting off the Vulcan's dry rejoinder, until they erupted into howls of laughter.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter Twelve_**

"Okay, Jim. Report? You want a report? All right. Captain, I would like to report that you have one extremely freaked-out Chief Medical Officer aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, effective the instant this pointy-eared walking database disappeared out from under my med-scanner thirty minutes ago!"

Rapidly escalating throughout the tirade, the last words were more of a screech akin to a dying hyena's than anything else, one loud enough to make Spock twitch in discomfort at the assault against his eardrums.

Leonard McCoy was not a happy man.

"And _furthermore_," the physician growled, causing a nearby blue-suited nurse to shoot her superiors a sympathetic look, "you want to explain to me how this body lying in the next cubicle's DNA is an exact match for yours, Jim?"

"…He's me?"

"Quite intelligently put, Captain."

"Shut up, Spock. You're enjoying all this way too much."

"Aye, sir." The unadded _on both counts_ fluttered in the air for a moment, causing Jim to grin before he turned his attention to his irate CMO.

"Bones, calm down," he spoke directly, placing both hands on the physician's shoulders. "Q's gone for good, I promise. And this…this is a present from him, so to speak. Because we passed his tests."

The physician glowered in obvious suspicion. "Well, that explains the big red bow that was tied around the fella's neck," he muttered.

"Big red – never mind." Honestly, and Q had the gall to complain about _his_ sense of humor or lack thereof? "It's myself from the Ambassador's universe," he explained, sheepishly remembering only now that Bones had barely met the Old Spock and hadn't liked him any more than he did Jim's Spock.

"Well, ain't that just wonderful. You want to tell me what the Sam Hill's really going on here, Jim? On second thought," the man groused, glaring at an alarm which had started to blare over a patient, "I've got enough crap to deal with from that battle with the Romulans. Fill me in later, and brother had it better be good. NURSE CHAPEL WILL YOU TURN THAT THING OFF OR DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE?"

"It never ceases to amaze me, how he achieves the results he does in Medical," Spock observed sagaciously, as the entirety of the med-staff jumped hastily to do their chief's bidding.

Jim laughed. "Ask no questions, is my motto. Now, Mr. Spock, before we go in and see this fine gentleman, care to tell me how in the galaxy you decided the other me was the logical choice for you to make?"

Spock shifted slightly. And Vulcans don't fidget, which meant he was highly uncomfortable. "Not especially, Captain."

"Well, you're nothing if not honest. Consider it an order, anyway."

"A highly irregular one," Spock replied, raising an eyebrow of skepticism. "I doubt you could enforce it."

"You just like seeing me die of wanting-to-know, don't you?"

"Cessation of life functions due to unsatisfied curiosity is quite scarce. Nevertheless," and Jim decided to overlook the smart-aleck comment for now as Spock continued, more seriously, "I…am not certain I could fully explain it, to you or anyone else, sir."

"Okay, first of all, drop the sir. And second, try me." Hooking a foot around a nearby chair, he fell gracefully into it as it approached and then sprawled, looking up at his uncomfortable First. "Shoot. Don't even – you know full well I mean _give me the pertinent facts_, Spock."

The Vulcan looked slightly peeved, but stood still enough, hands folded behind him in loose attention stance. "I had already determined the purpose of the tests prior to deciding the test's outcome. With that in mind, I needed only to decide which person would change nothing about our own history; what is, is – and to change that would defeat the principles by which we live and by which we were attempting to best this entity. I also was forced to consider the emotional ramifications upon those who were to be resurrected, as I have already explained to you."

Jim nodded readily. "I get that. Just…why the other me? It's a great idea – I mean who wouldn't want two of me – but how'd you arrive at that conclusion _logically_?"

Spock's eyes closed in minor exasperation at his comment before opening again to look pointedly anywhere but at Jim. "I…was put in remembrance of our conversation with my alternate self," he explained, slowly, carefully, as if afraid of betraying too much. "His remarks that he sensed the death of his Leonard McCoy, and yet felt nothing at the death of his Captain; such is not logical, and began a train of thought processes which escalated into a certainty that he did not sense his Kirk's death, for the simple reason that the man did not truly die."

"Wait, wait. You two wouldn't tell me what all that freaky Spock-speak was about sensing people's deaths," Jim interjected, holding up both hands. "So out with it."

Spock looked vaguely uncomfortable, but obediently began a hesitant explanation. "Vulcan minds are capable of forming many and varied links to both telepathic and non-telepathic individuals," he said slowly. "Over time, a sense of presence may develop even though the subject has no telepathic ability nor is bonded in any way. Such is the case with us, Captain."

"Wait, what? You're telling me you have a _Kirk-sense_?"

Spock's eyebrows clearly said _do not flatter yourself_. "Ineloquently put, but essentially correct."

"That is _so cool_."

Okay, he was positive that Spock really did roll his eyes that time. The Vulcan hurried on, cutting off any further discussion. "I am able to sense your moods without the necessity of touch-telepathy. I know when you are in danger, as you seem to be in return." (1)

"That's true enough, but back home we just call that gut instinct or having a bad feeling about something." Jim raised an eyebrow in mirror-question. "So you're saying you can develop that sense with people who aren't telepathic themselves?"

"It is very rare to do so; the sense is usually relegated to family and…close friends, which might as well be counted family," Spock replied stiffly, far more stiffly than usual. A slow smile began to spread across the captain's face, but before he could comment on those words the Vulcan had barreled onward with determined alacrity. "Quite frankly, Captain, I could not fathom how the Ambassador could possibly have felt his Dr. McCoy die and _not_ his James Kirk. That conjecture is utterly illogical, and unfathomable."

Jim tried not to laugh, as he was pretty sure that was a Vulcan burn, on Bones.

"And besides all this…it simply seemed to be the most beneficial decision to all involved."

"You mean you didn't want the poor guy to be lonely any more," Jim rephrased, his smile threatening to hurt his face if it got any wider.

"More that I felt it would…balance the scales the most properly," was the careful correction, though Jim knew better.

Spock had made a blunder, though, and only realized it when the captain's smile turned even more devious. "You _felt_ it would?"

"A…poor choice of wording. I _was aware_, would be more precise."

"Right. You were _aware_ that Old You is awfully lonely and were _aware_ that bringing my alternate self here would be the most _logical_ action to take."

"Your reasoning is slightly skewed, but essentially accurate," Spock replied serenely.

Jim's smile grew. "Did he force you to believe in Destiny, Spock?"

"He being Q?"

"Or Old You, whatever floats your boat." At the incredulous look, Jim sighed, waving a hand to dismiss the metaphor. "Just enlighten me, will you? How'd you change your mind about destiny and its meddling with our lives and universes?"

"I…placed myself in the Ambassador's position." Spock shrugged, just a tiny gesture from one shoulder. "Were I he, I should be obligated to believe in such a force." The Vulcan's eyes flitted nervously to one side before he continued, voice lower than his previous words. "The alternative is simply too…horrible, to contemplate."

Nothing could have knocked the smile off Jim's face by now, at the all-but-frank admission that Spock realized he'd be miserable without his captain and gambled their futures on making his older self happy again (yeah, he said _happy_, and _knew_ it was true because all that I-feel-nothing stuff was so much bull).

"Well, Mr. Spock," he spoke at last, rocketing to his feet with an outstretched hand and a wide smile. "I believe we may make an honest human out of you yet."

He ignored the outraged squawk he received in answer, and strode purposefully across the ward to the cubicle in which rested (literally, in a weird paradoxical way) his future

* * *

Awkward didn't begin to describe it.

If it had been weird meeting an old version of your friend(ish) and First Officer, then it was definitely a hundred times weirder meeting an older version of yourself. The human brain wasn't meant to comprehend the paradoxes involved, and he found himself just staring at the curious figure reclining on the bio-bed.

Upon seeing him the older man's weary gaze had brightened, softened, like warm sunshine coming out after an Iowa tornado, and for just a fleeting, heartwrenching moment he wondered if that was how his father would have looked. Bones had, according to him before his mini-tantrum, told the former Starfleet captain the basics of how he'd been transferred into a different universe; and while the older man seemed stunned at the news he wasn't flipping out over it or anything. Probably thinking you were going to die by a bridge falling on you and waking up somewhere else, you were just glad to be waking up period and not really caring where it was.

Then Spock moved in behind him and close at his shoulder, and the older Kirk's expression blanked completely, stunned surprise blanketing the warmth of curiosity. Every thought was clearly visible on the honest face – disbelief, affection, resignation, self-control, all in perfect procession until the man was calm again.

He couldn't imagine how hard it might be to come back from the dead after eighty-odd years and find yourself facing off against someone young enough to be your son, and not having anyone with you who knew the real you. He was having a hard enough time with comprehending the reverse.

Which was probably why Spock felt the need to break the silence and save him from looking like a total open-mouthed idiot.

"To avoid confusion, I suggest we agree upon a method of referencing you and the Captain," Spock said without greeting or preamble, looking down his nose at the older man.

Old Kirk (should he refer to him as that? It was beyond weird) only looked faintly amused, thank goodness, by Spock's slightly defensive tone.

"You are accustomed to calling him Captain or Jim, I presume?" the older man asked quietly, and the warm calm of the cultured voice washed over his jangled nerves like a soothing balm.

"Affirmative," Spock replied stiffly.

"Then you could just call me Kirk," the other suggested, lifting one shoulder in a minor shrug. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

Curious, Jim shuffled a half-step forward. "What, you don't want to be called Tiberius?"

The Other Him cocked an eyebrow at him, a smile curling one side of his lips. "I think you probably hate that as much as I do, all things considered."

Jim laughed, relaxing at the familiarity – maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought. "Right, so Spock can call me Jim and you Kirk. You can call us just Spock and Jim, unless you want to call me Mini-Me, and I can call Spock Spock and you Old Me, and –"

"Captain." Spock's unsaid _shut up you babbling idiot_ sounded clearly at the tail end of the title, and he rolled his eyes.

Kirk looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh in their faces. "If that's settled then, suppose you tell me what exactly is going on?" he asked, but the tone was hardening into a no-nonsense command disguised as a request. "The last memory I have before waking up to your version of Leonard McCoy swearing up a blue streak, is of Captain Picard on Veridian III…I'm pretty sure I was dying." (2)

"You were," Spock agreed complacently.

"Informative, isn't he?" Jim asked, grinning. He leaned against the wall, watching the awkward interplay and laughing internally at the exasperated look his older self was favoring the Vulcan with.

"Quite," Kirk agreed dryly. "And as dead men don't inter-dimensionally shift as a general rule, I take it you have a better explanation for my appearance here?"

"We do." Jim rubbed the back of his neck, trying to formulate how best to explain the whole fiasco. "First of all," he sighed, just plunging in in lieu of having a well-thought-out plan, "we're not a mirror universe of yours. We're a parallel one, a splinter or alternate universe."

"…Right." The older man nodded, paying close attention. "At what point then do our universes diverge into separate paths?"

Well, at least the guy was well-acquainted with the jargon. He spent the next half-hour or so explaining the differences in their universes, beginning with Q's recent test of them and how the man ended up here, and then began telling how their universes differed, with small additions or clarifications from Spock. But he ground to an awkward halt when he reached the part in his historical tale about the ice cave on Delta Vega.

"And so anyhow…well, look," he finally hedged, glancing at Spock's raised eyebrow which clearly informed him he was on his own here. "There's…something you need to know about this universe, since you can't go back to yours."

"Wait, what?" The older man's eyes widened. "There's no way to reverse how I got here?"

"Considering that you are dead in your own universe and entered this one via omnipotent ability, no method exists by which to return you," Spock interjected. "Your life here is the only alternative remaining to you."

"That's…" the older man trailed off, swallowing painfully. "Not a pleasant thought," he finished weakly, as he began rubbing slowly at his temples as if warding off a headache.

"But you don't know the half of it," Jim added with a small smile.

Kirk looked up, pain evident in his haunted eyes, and some absent portion of Jim's brain wondered how he'd ended up with blue when this Kirk's were warm gold. "What else could there be? I'm stranded here for good, apparently, because I really have died in my own universe. If this is Destiny's idea of an afterlife I have to say I don't think much of it. No offense, gentlemen."

"You're not the only one from your universe who's been stranded here," Jim finally blurted, unable to take the man's evident sadness anymore.

"…Say again?"

"Going back to our story, we didn't tell you all of it. Nero wasn't the only one who came through the wormhole from your universe."

Hazel eyes blinked, rapidly processing that and its possibilities. "Who then?" Kirk asked curiously.

"Computer," Jim stated. "Voice authorization Kirk, James T., Captain. Cut off security feed to Sickbay for space of twenty minutes. Resume upon voice command."

_"Acknowledged."_

"This is classified stuff; of all aboard, only my main Bridge crew knows," he added, and fairly beamed at Spock's approving expression; they were so accustomed to bouncing around references to Old Spock and the trans-universal mumbo-jumbo that they sometimes forgot that the majority of the world didn't realize who Nero was or where he'd come from. It wasn't at all common knowledge, since it would probably freak an awful lot of people out. (3)

"What is?" Kirk asked, blinking. Determination filled the strong features as a glare began to edge its way onto the man's face when they hesitated. "Who else came through from my universe?" he demanded.

Jim glanced at Spock, who only looked back at him, expressionless. No help there. Well, here went nothing.

"Computer, locate captain's private transmissions two days previous. Replay communiqué from research vessel _Patagonia_, last ten minutes of message."

The small bedside screen lit up as the computer whirred, bringing up the tape. Finally the screen blinked into existence. A familiar face filled the monitor, and the recording began.

_"A moment, Captain. _

_"This is the only personal possession which came with me through the wormhole created by the detonation of the red-matter in Romulan space, Jim." _

_"A locket?" _

_"A holo-emitter." _

_"Isn't wearing any kind of adornment a little illogical?"_

_"I do not believe it will cause harm to your timeline to view this, as I believe its words are universally constant…and perhaps it will explain why I must, most emphatically, believe in destiny."_

"Spock," Kirk breathed, ashen.

"Computer, pause replay," he said softly, and let the silence speak for itself for a few minutes.

The older man's eyes were frozen on the image before him, barely blinking as he processed this new, shocking information.

"My counterpart from your universe was also pulled through the rift in time, twenty-five of our years after Nero's appearance," his Spock intoned calmly, washing tranquility over the rampant emotions flooding the room. "It was he whom Jim met on Delta Vega, he who aided the captain in beaming back aboard the _Enterprise_ to take control of the ship and lead her crew to defeat Nero and save Earth. It is he who currently is aboard the research vessel _Patagonia_, researching plant life for the New Vulcan colony; he who has been for over a year trapped in our universe, unable to return to yours."

"And, if I know the Admiralty correctly, it's him that the Starfleet higher-ups are probably going to want you to stay under the radar with from now on," Jim added, his grin filling the room as he fairly bounced in excitement.

The older man looked up with tears glimmering unashamedly in his eyes. When he finally found his voice, the whisper was as heartfelt as any declaration ever could be. "I can live with that."

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Twelve**  
(1) Again, for sake of my story, this is more speculation on the nature of Vulcan mental abilities. I don't deny that something had to have connected TOS Kirk and Spock on a far deeper level than just the average friendship; that much is obvious. To what extent that reaches, I won't profess to know for certain, and for the sake of this story I've chosen to explain it in this way.  
(2) Again, if you've not seen _Generations_, you may want to wiki the movie to get a grasp on the plot and at least Kirk's death on Veridian III.  
(3) Once more, speculation, but I just don't see the Federation broadcasting all the scientific jargon to the entire world; not necessarily a massive governmental cover-up, but definitely you don't just go telling the known worlds that there was a crazed Romulan out there with the technology to hop universes. Too many questions, too much panic. I suspect they came up with some kind of cover story for the masses.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

"I do not believe this to be a wise course of action, Captain."

"Oh, come on, Spock. You can't convince me you aren't eager to see his reaction to the surprise."

"Vulcans do not appreciate being forced unwittingly into emotional displays," and yes, there went the disapproving eyebrow again, "nor do they appreciate spectators to those displays."

Jim rolled his eyes and switched on the viewer; the elder Kirk, now more comfortable in a spare gold uniform, was sitting calmly at the table, scrolling idly through the data-padd they'd given him containing all the details of the Battle of Vulcan. Their message to the _Patagonia_ had been concise; they needed Old Spock desperately, and were diverting to intercept the research vessel at their earliest possible convenience. He knew as well as Spock, that the Ambassador would take it for the SOS it apparently was and would adjust the _Patagonia_'s course accordingly. Now, they were only sixty seconds from the Ambassador's beam-over, and Jim was getting jittery with excitement.

"You're acting like you think he's going to go hysterical on us or start bawling or something. Give the guy some credit, Spock; he is _you_, after all."

"Vulcans do not get hysterical. And Vulcans are incapable of crying, as the existence of our secondary eyelids precludes the need for optical lubrication." (1)

"But you're half-human, so can you cry through _one_ eye?"

He instinctively ducked, even though Spock would never really hit him (he hoped) with whatever object he happened to be carrying; and he deserved it that time, anyhow.

"Your humor is entirely inappropriate and also quite…annoying."

He smirked innocently. "But you don't feel annoyance, so we're good, right?"

Spock's Glare of Impending Doom was thankfully diverted by the inter-comm sounding, informing them that the Ambassador was on his way to Briefing Room Four.

Jim wriggled in suppressed excitement, eyes on the viewer before them and butterflies playing tag in his stomach. Spock made a sighing noise through his nose and then joined him, elbow to elbow.

Silence.

Then, "…You really think we should have told him?"

He could fairly _hear_ the eyebrow go up. "It is a little late now for such questions, is it not?"

"Mmhm…oh well, it's more fun this way."

Five minutes later, the older Kirk was frowning in concentration, absently clicking pages in the padd, when the door opened.

"This is it," Jim whispered irreverently to his Spock, and received a very human elbow in the ribs and a polite "Please be quiet, Captain" in return.

The Ambassador's dignified figure, even more stately in his Vulcan robes, swept gracefully into the room, pausing just inside the door as he caught sight of the gold-shirted figure sitting at the other end of the table, face turned half-away and down, partly in shadow. Jim had positioned the older man that way on purpose, and now gleefully rubbed his hands as the Ambassador had obviously taken Kirk to be him at first glance.

_"Captain?" _The older man's pleasant voice rang clearly in the empty room.

The padd dropped with a clatter from the human's hands, and he jerked around in his seat. Hazel eyes went wide, and the man's lips parted in dramatic shock.

"You did not tell _him_ the purpose of this rendezvous _either_?" Jim's Spock was hissing disbelievingly in his ear.

"What, and spoil the fun?"

"Captain, you are –"

"Shhh!" He waved an impatient hand, because his eyes were on the two figures on the screen, both apparently frozen in time, simply staring at each other.

_"…Spock?"_ Kirk found his voice, and the power of movement, first. Rising slowly from his chair, hands braced on the polished surface, he made his way cautiously, disbelievingly, around the table.

The ambassador hadn't moved a muscle.

Kirk stopped a few feet away from the elderly Vulcan, his expression one of utter disbelief. _"Spock,"_ he murmured again, as if he couldn't find any other word and didn't really care to just at the moment. _"How…how long?"_

The Vulcan turned his head away slightly, eyes closed and hands clenched tightly behind him. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw. _"Ninety-five years. Three months. Seventeen days…and…"_ (2)

Now Jim felt like a complete idiot; he hadn't realized it was so long – I mean, practically a century! – since Old Spock had last seen his Jim Kirk. Or vice-versa; time had no meaning in the Nexus, and so it was no wonder the admiral looked horrified and shocked to see his old friend so…old.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he muttered uncomfortably.

"I believe the appropriate Terran expression is – you _think_?" Spock hissed back.

On the viewscreen before them, the human moved slowly closer to the ambassador, who still had not moved or opened his eyes. One hand came up to rest on the shoulder closest to him, thumb moving gently back and forth over the soft black fabric.

_"Spock,"_ he said softly. When he received no answer, he frowned, squeezed the arm slightly. _"Spock, you're shaking. Look at me, please."_

_"…Jim." _

Just the one word, barely more than a trembling breath of air in the stillness, but it was enough to make him want to sit there and sniffle like a girl; to think that he might ever, in a million years, in a million universes, earn and deserve the kind of deep emotional current that flooded the simple syllable with loyalty and love – just the ridiculous _possibility_ staggered him with something close to awe.

Kirk's other hand moved up as well to rest gently on the older man's other shoulder. _"I don't really know what's going on,"_ the former captain was murmuring. _"I don't understand how I got here or why or what I'm doing – but…if you're here, then…Spock? Oh, Spock. Hey, it's all right…"_

Jim's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he turned an accusatory glance toward his eavesdropping companion, who was staring far too blankly at the screen before them.

"I thought you said Vulcans couldn't cr-"

"I have no comment on the matter."

* * *

"_What_ in the name of all that's _holy_ were you _thinking_? _Were_ you thinking?"

The bellow shook the entire Sickbay, sending instruments rattling in fear within their trays and nurses cringing over their scanners.

Leonard McCoy could be a sweetheart, they all knew – but when he was ticked, then you were better off not coming to Sickbay unless you were dying right that minute (and even then, you might be better off dead).

"It isn't my fault!" he practically wailed, trying to hide behind his First and not succeeding because the Vulcan had wisely planted his back against a wall. "I didn't know!"

"I don't care what the heck you knew or didn't know, Jim!" The crash of a med-scanner being flung onto the nearest desk, skittering across the polished surface, drew a sigh from Nurse Chapel but no further retribution. "The man is over a hundred and thirty years old! You don't go around givin' _anybody_ that age a major shock, even if he _is_ a Vulcan – and especially if his family has a history of cardiac issues!" (3)

He halted in his tracks, amusement at the entire fracas vanishing into a tense knot at the base of his skull. "Heart trouble?" he whispered. "I thought he just passed out…"

"Yes, heart trouble! From what you – the other you – tells me, his father started having mild heart trouble when he was _way_ too young to be having it!" the physician snarled, brandishing an empty (hopefully) hypospray at the cringing captain as if it were a formidable weapon. "Heart diseases or defects are often hereditary, you idiot! You don't just drop a _dead_ man into a room with _anybody_ who has a cardiovascular issue, I don't care _who_ he is!"

"Doctor, my family has no history of heart disease on either my maternal or paternal side," Spock's cool voice soothed the tension for a moment. "Neither I nor the captain had any way of knowing that my counterpart's medical history in his universe was any different than my own. Had I been aware of this, I certainly would have made a more laborious attempt to prevent the captain from instituting his plans."

"Then I suggest you do more research the next time, _gentlemen_," McCoy spat the last word as if it were venom and he a Gamma Hydran spitting spider monkey, "because you could have _killed_ the poor devil!"

That took all the fun out of it, definitely. Even Spock looked stricken, and Jim knew he must look a hundred times as bad if Bones would deflate as quickly as he did just then.

"Aw, Jim, he'll be fine as long as you don't go resurrectin' any more ghosts for him. Just…be glad he's just as stubborn as your Spock and didn't give out right there," the physician sighed, patting him gently on the shoulder. Then a dark glare was turned toward the Vulcan standing calmly at his captain's side. "And you, you use that pointed-eared brain of yours next time and stop this moron before he does something stupid like that!"

"I object to both your use of the word _moron_ in reference to the captain and to your mixed metaphor regarding my gray matter, Doctor, but I assure you I will not allow such a situation as this to occur again. Will that satisfy you?"

Whatever the doctor muttered under his breath as he walked away wasn't audible to human ears, but obviously was to Vulcan ones, based on Spock's reactive eyebrows. Jim sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and glanced at his First.

Spock's austere features softened slightly. "You had no way of knowing, Captain," he said. "Vulcans are not…forthcoming, regarding their private lives or histories."

"It was still a dumb idea."

"Quite possibly." He would have been offended, except that Spock's eyes were twinkling slightly; he was joking, in his own bizarrely logical way. "However, the temptation for such dramatic climax to this matter was…rather alluring."

"Heh. I knew you wanted to see his reaction too."

"I did not say so."

"You didn't have to. Anyway," he leaned wearily against the bulkhead, "d'you suppose Starfleet is going to have my head on a platter for the whole mess?"

"I do not see that they need to be told every detail," Spock hedged cautiously.

"Um, Romulans and a plague ship beaming a canister aboard and locking out all transmissions? My First logged as officially dead for at least five minutes? Some random dude from an alternate universe appearing on my ship? An unscheduled rendezvous with the _Patagonia_? How shall I explain all that, O Science Officer Most Magnificent?"

Spock didn't bat an eye at the title. "I would suggest, in the interests of all concerned, that you do not attempt to."

"Come again?"

"I will write the official reports, Captain. With your permission."

"And without it?"

"I shall have to _re_write them at any rate; to save us both the trouble would be the logical approach."

"Wise guy. I wondered who'd been doctoring those things, after Admiral Komack congratulated me on my 'unusually detailed accuracy and diplomatic tact' last time."

Spock's lips twitched at the corner. Score one, a success.

A sudden small commotion drew their attention to the recovery cubicle, and a minute later a very harried-looking older Kirk scuttled out the doorway, followed closely by their Chief Medical Officer, arms flailing dramatically.

"I said twelve hours, and I _mean_ twelve hours! You'll have the rest of your life to see him, so _get_!"

Yeah, some things seemed to be universal constants, judging from the half-sad laughter bubbling in the older man's eyes.

"At ease, Bones," Jim interjected in the torrent of protective invectives, inwardly grinning at how his older counterpart instinctively obeyed the physician. "Is the ambassador okay?"

"He'll be fine," the physician grumped, glaring at the amused former captain, "if I can keep this guy out of the room for long enough. Ambassador's in a light healing trance, Jim, but every time your _friend_ here gets within five feet of him his heart rate spikes and the monitors start having a spizz-fit and his brain starts wakin' up before it's time to, and –"

"Fascinating." Spock's bland observation earned him a glower from the physician, and an amused look from Jim's older counterpart. "Forty-two words without pausing for breath constitutes a record even for you, Doctor McCoy."

"Nurse, where did we store that active culture of choriocytosis?" (4)

"Captain, does it not strike you with some unease to know that your Chief of Medical Staff seems to have aboard a collection of the most painful diseases and their equally painful treatments in the known galaxy?"

"Don't drag me into this," he chuckled, and backed away with both hands upraised. "I'm just going to stand over here and watch the fireworks."

Said fireworks brightened when McCoy caught the older man trying again to sneak unnoticed into Old Spock's cubicle; the holler of "I said get out of there! What are you, twelve?" followed him and his Spock as they beat a hasty retreat, satisfied that there would be no severe repercussions from his admittedly not-well-thought-out stunt of earlier.

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Thirteen**  
(1) Vulcan secondary eyelids are first mentioned in the TOS episode _Operation Annihilate_, in which Spock's inner eyelid protected him from being blinded by the full-spectrum light test.  
(2) It really had been that long. The year 2293, the prologue for _Generations_ (Kirk's disappearance into the Nexus); 2371, the body of _Generations_ (Kirk's returning from the Nexus); 2387, the _ST:XI_ film; over one more year in this universe. _Ninety-five years_, people. That's a _long_ time.  
(3) Sarek, Spock's father, was diagnosed with a cardiovascular issue in the episode_ Journey to Babel_. While apparently the defect (healed by McCoy's surgery) was never brought up again in Trek canon, heart diseases usually have an element of heredity.  
(4) Choriocytosis is one of the few (deadly if untreated) ailments Vulcans are susceptible to, as seen in the TAS episode _Pirates of Orion_. 


	14. Chapter 14

**_Chapter Fourteen_**

The brush of something gently ghosting against his face was the first sensation that filtered through the calming mesh of nearly-completed healing, followed by another, hesitant pat.

Voices followed, one insistent and another defensive.

Both too nightmarishly familiar, and one somehow off, somehow wrong.

No, both were wrong, as neither had he heard in almost a century.

"Not like that, you idiot, or he'll never come out of it – haven't you had to do this at some point? You can't slap like a girl and expect the pain to be enough to wake him up!"

"Your bedside manner is as horrible as my Bones's was, you know that right?"

"And you're as mouthy as that kid pacing up and down outside there. Now move. Your. Hand."

A sudden jolt of pain shivered through his dormant nervous system, echoing outward from the sting against his face, and then another, awakening dampened nerves and telegraphing sensation from the brain to the body.

And yet he struggled reluctantly against the return to awareness, as he would only have to face these child-ghosts of his past yet again, baby versions of a life that had vanished prematurely so many years ago.

But to refuse to face reality was not logical, nor in fact possible, for the brain insisted upon awakening and he could do nothing but reluctantly follow.

"That's it." That voice…he could distinguish now between it and the one from memory's recesses. It was not right; the inflection, the tonality, the pitch were different despite the phrenology and accent being very like the well-loved tones of the Leonard McCoy he had known. "Once more should do it. Stubborn fella, isn't he?"

"Always has been."

His heart stuttered slightly at the newcomer's words, and an alarm blared from somewhere overhead, causing a flurried curse in the not-quite-McCoy's voice.

"What happened?" Worry, concern…but it was not possible…

"Same thing that kept happening when you wouldn't stay outta here for the last hour, his mind is recognizing you and freakin' itself out about hearin' a dead man!"

"Should I – maybe I should leave."

"You try it and I'll tie you to that chair. Just because this's gonna be awkward is no excuse for you to run away."

"Do you know how resentful I could be of being talked to in that tone by someone young enough to be my _son_?"

"_Speakin'_ of awkward."

A short laugh, so familiar. Then words, closer this time, almost next to his ear. "Come on, Spock, wake up, will you?" Pleading, almost begging, forlorn in their concern, and he felt the compulsion to answer them. "Doctor, why isn't he coming out of it by now?"

But this was not possible. He had been keeping careful watch upon himself for the onset of Bendii Syndrome; it was entirely possible he would begin manifesting symptoms in the next ten years, though he had hardly expected them this early if at all. (1) But creating hallucinations of ghosts long dead, especially _that_ ghost…it was the most logical explanation, but he had hoped to have a few more years before the onset of senility...

_Pain_.

Another sharp slap, rougher this time, broke that train of thought into a hundred pieces which fell about him in scattered bits in response to the stimulus.

"Be careful!"

"He may be an old Vulcan, but he's still a Vulcan! Let me do my job!"

"Um, guys…everything okay in here?"

"OUT, Jim!"

"Sheesh." Footsteps scurried away, and a small portion of his mind smiled; the young one was so like his deceased captain, and yet so not...

"Spock." Again, the voice he refused to acknowledge, knowing it to be no more than a figment of an old man's far too human imagination. It was impossible, and therefore should be ignored. "Bones, what's wrong with him?"

"_Don't_ call me that."

"…Sorry, force of habit?" Sorrow, tinged with fondness; he could dissect this voice and its emotions far better than he could his own or ever had been able to.

"And I have no idea! All readings indicate he could wake up anytime but he just isn't comin' out of it! It's more like he doesn't want to, not that he's not capable of doin' it!"

Of course he did not desire to awaken and find that this had all been the onset of a truly vivid set of nightmarish hallucinations. That the brain could conjure up such things with such clarity after so long, was nothing short of terrifying.

A mutter sounded close by his head, though he could not distinguish the words, sounding of determination and worry and something else he could not readily identify; the few moments of silence which followed enabled him to again slow the process of returning to lucidity, falling back into the quiet solitude which was preferable for now to facing this harsh reality he had inadvertently created so long ago.

Then from the silence That Voice suddenly sliced through the mists, driving straight through his barriers with all the ease of long-practiced, deadly aim. "Spock, snap out of it this instant. That's an order from your captain, mister!"

Unfortunately, the heart remembers what the brain refuses to acknowledge, and he was no more able to disobey that tone and those words than he was to stop his own lungs from drawing in oxygen.

He surfaced, reluctantly opening his eyes, and then promptly closed them again to shut out the ghosts which hovered around him. Was it not enough that he had destroyed this other reality and its inhabitants due to his own miscalculation – must he be haunted by ghosts of his own as well?

"Oh no you don't," the voice spoke again, much more gently this time, and something closed around his hand, warm pressure on his cold fingers. "Don't shut me out, Spock."

He must, else that way lay madness, how could this figment of an aging mentality not see that?

"I know you're confused right now, but don't you dare retreat before learning all the facts, Science Officer." The tone had tightened into a familiar sternness, and he could not refuse to acknowledge it.

Something pinched slightly at his neck, accompanied by a hissing noise, and he opened his eyes again to this young McCoy's smirk. "Well, you're as grumpy as my Spock when I do that," the young man observed sagely, looking far too pleased with himself.

"What did you just give him?" No, he would not look at the owner of The Voice just yet, for he could not think of acknowledging whatever Truth that might force upon him. He kept his eyes upon the young physician.

"The Vulcan equivalent of our caffeine, basically," McCoy replied laconically, rolling his eyes. "Just a mild stimulant mixed with a vitamin cocktail and an immunity booster; he should be more lucid in a few minutes. I don't want him droppin' back off for a few hours yet, not until I can get some decent readings from these scanners. Don't excite him. You may not be my Jim Kirk but I'll still kick your butt outta here if you give me any grief, understood?"

A brief chuckle. "Understood, Doctor."

"Hmph."

The hiss of pressurized doors closing signaled the exit of this unique version of his own Leonard McCoy, and he closed his eyes again to assimilate the information that was filtering back through his brain at an alarming speed, filling in the gaps which had been muddled by healing trance. His head was clearing, the uncertainty disappearing under the mild stimulant – he noted with some amusement that at least in this universe this McCoy was capable of concocting a drug which did not turn his stomach – and the remembrance of recent events fell into place with a startling clarity.

And then the inevitable conclusions were made, and his heart lurched again, the sensor over his head beeping angrily.

He remembered quite well the reality of his last recollections.

He was not hallucinating.

This was reality.

_Jim._

His eyes flew open of their own accord, and met the amused, affectionate gaze that had probably never left him in the last few hours.

"Welcome back," Jim said softly.

The Voice washed over him like a calming wave of warm water on a parched desert, taking with its flood all the uncertainty of the last few minutes spent trying to grasp what was truly reality.

"I do not understand," he whispered, voice hoarse with disuse and disbelief. "How…how can you be here?"

"Long story, one that can wait until we have time to compare notes on all that's happened. The important thing is, that I _am_ here – that we _both_ are, thank the stars." That smile, the one he had never thought to see again in anything other than a tiny holo-image, suddenly shot brilliant sunlight into the room, banishing the shadows with its unleashed power.

He felt his own lips curve slightly, and from the dancing light answering from in his former captain's eyes knew the man could still read him as clearly as one of those antique books he so loved.

Jim's hand tightened slightly. "I was never so relieved in my life as I was when they told me somebody else was stranded here as well." The corners of the human's eyes crinkled, adding laugh wrinkles to the ones already present in the aging face. "They've told me all about it. You really couldn't stay out of trouble even _without_ my influence, could you?"

What he had done was no joking matter, and yet he felt the tiny spark of amusement just the same at the words; Jim had always been capable of generating humor and determined calmness in any situation, no matter how dire.

And yet the fact remained; this universe's very existence, warped as it was, was due entirely to his error, his miscalculation. The fact that no one could have predicted the Romulan sun going supernova before its time made no difference; blame by definition must be attributed to someone, and he was the most likely candidate. He had destroyed his own dreams of uniting Romulus and Vulcan, and in the process had destroyed these young ones' chances at the life he had led, destroyed his home world and half the universe's scientific knowledge while in the process.

"Spock." The word drew his attention back to the well-remembered face before him, and he obediently attended. Jim's smile had faded into a concerned frown. He leaned closer, patting gently at the Vulcan's sleeve. "I can't tell what you're thinking exactly, but whatever it is, you're wrong."

He no longer was surprised that this particular human could seem to sense his thoughts and – Surak forbid, but it was true – his emotions, without any telepathic abilities. Jim had always been special, unique – an individual unheard-of in Vulcan history, an outworlder who somehow, no one knew how, had wormed his way so deeply intertwined with Vulcan and her people that he was accepted as an adopted blood-brother. (2) Now, that perspicacity was flaring as strongly after so many decades as it had the last they had met.

"I mean it, Spock," Jim reiterated sternly. "They've shown me the history books and the reports. There was nothing more you could have done."

"You do not know this." No one did. Jim shook his head, about to speak, but he continued with, "You are the one who stated that there is always an alternative. Never a true Kobayashi Maru. There is always a Corbomite Maneuver available to those who can find it." (3)

"Not always," the human whispered, eyes downcast. "Not completely." And through the light touch on his hand he could instantly feel the swamping dread and grief of a cadet patrol gone badly wrong, a vengeance-bent super-man who succeeded where no one else had before in parting them, nearly making McCoy a casualty in the process of reunion. Jim met his eyes. "Sometimes you have to settle for a second chance instead, Spock."

He raised a calculating eyebrow. "Or a third?"

Jim laughed, a half-choked, relieved sound. "Or fourth, or fifth, or whatever we're on now," he agreed, smiling through hazy eyes. "Sometimes that's all we get, Spock. It'll have to be enough."

"You do not know what I have permitted to occur in this timeline," he protested, his self-guilt weakening under the warm influence of that melting smile.

"And I don't need to. _Kaiidth_, Spock." (4) The Vulcan word slipped as easily from the human's lips as it would from a Vulcan's, and the sound of his own language soothed the fractured mess of regret which had been his reality for over a year now. "You know this as well as I; we cannot change the past without changing our futures. To wish that we could is unproductive and…illogical."

He glared as best he could, reclined and helpless before the onslaught of James T. Kirk's teasing.

Jim laughed, a bubbling, joyful sound. "You've no idea how much I missed that supercilious eyebrow."

"I might be capable of guessing," was his quiet reply, darkened with the accumulation of nearly a century of loss. "It has been…so long."

"I can't imagine," the human whispered. "Time had no meaning in the Nexus; it feels like it's only been a few weeks since the shakedown of the Enterprise-B…"

"Much has happened, changed, in ninety-five years. To acclimate to this time period and this universe will be a challenge for you."

"And it hasn't been for you?"

"It has," he was forced to admit. "To be given no chance to actively atone for how I have changed this universe…"

Jim nodded, understanding completely without needing to speak the words of affirmation. "Neither of us has ever been a good passive bystander, have we?"

"Negative."

"What do you do, now?"

"I am a research scientist at present for the survivors' colony on New Vulcan." Curiosity sparked in the human's eyes. "Originally I fulfilled the role of a minor mental healer, as the resulting deaths and illnesses from broken familial and marriage bonds threatened to decimate those few survivors. Anyone with even minimal experience in empathic coping was needed for many months, until the survivors stabilized."

"You were always one of the best psychologists I knew, other than Bones," Jim remarked, smiling. Then his eyes widened, grief filling them. "Bones…Spock, what – was he…?"

"He was in no pain when his time came," he reassured quietly, for he knew it to be true despite being on Romulus at the dear being's passing. "He lived a long and fulfilled life, Jim; a Starfleet Admiral and a respected figure in Vulcan scientific circles. Though he grieved your loss, he, as I, was pleased that you had…gone out, as you would say, among the stars, saving the ship you loved. It was far more fitting, than failing of old age in retirement. Such was not your destiny, and he recognized that."

Tears shone unshed in the golden eyes, as they flicked to the doors of the Sickbay and then back to the bio-bed. "I miss him so much, Spock," the human whispered brokenly. "Seeing these kids…especially that McCoy…and knowing that it just isn't him…"

His heart clenched, and his hand echoed the reflexive tightening with its own grip. "I know."

Jim looked up, realization dawning visibly over his expressive features. "You do, don't you…you've had to live it for a year now, were thrown into it more painfully than I was."

"It was…difficult." An immense, immeasurable understatement. The pain had been nearly unbearable, meeting a young version of this man just after watching his planet and all she represented and housed disintegrate before his eyes. He regretted the hasty, ill-prepared mind meld he had nearly forced upon the young Jim Kirk, because he had not the time to prepare the young man nor to shield his own mind from spilling over the emotional turbulence he had not had time to control. It was no wonder the young man reported still feeling occasional flashbacks to events he knew nothing of; it had been yet another mistake on Spock's part, one more in a chain of horrific errors that had nearly cost them all everything. (5)

"Spock," and he gathered from the questioning concern that his mind had wandered for a moment.

"Yes, Captain?"

The title fell easily from his lips, even after so many years, and seeing the delighted smile that beamed down at him he resolved to continue. After all, it would be illogical to break such a habit.

Jim leaned forward, resting his arms on the thermal blanket. "Show me," he requested gently. "Show me why you still blame yourself. What you did, and think you could have done. What you feel. You know I won't ask you to talk to me about it – but show me?"

He looked away, unprepared for this next step in assimilating this reality. He had not participated in a true, intimate mind-joining in decades, not since Captain Picard's news of his father's death; this was part of the reason he had performed so poorly with young Jim last year – he had not been prepared nor in practice for such an intimate action. "You do not know what you ask."

"Spock," and he had never really been able to resist those eyes, that pleading expression. "I _ask_…that you let me help." (6)

The words were said purposely, and they both knew it; and he was powerless to resist the beckoning plea to permit someone to at last absolve him of the guilt he had harbored silently for so long. Jim's mind promised no blame, only aid – and he who had given such absolution to others as a healer on New Vulcan had never spared a thought for himself. To avail one's self of such help from a trusted source was only logical.

Jim completed the decision for him, turning his head slightly to allow access and then guiding the aging hand into position – a gesture of complete trust, one that did not go unnoticed by him.

"I am not properly prepared…What you see could be painful."

"It doesn't matter, Spock. After all this, it _doesn't matter_."

"Captain, I –"

"Go on," the man whispered intensely, that familiar staccato delivery punctuating the words with urgency. The eyes above his fingers sparked gold-green with intensity and trust. "_Show_ me."

He shifted his fingers slightly, into the proper position. "My mind…to your mind," he began slowly, almost reverently, and Jim's face, relaxed and at peace, was his last sight just before his eyes closed in concentration.

For the next fifteen minutes, neither of them noticed the hunched figure standing at the glass observation window, watching.

* * *

He'd never seen anything more…_beautiful_, was the word, in his entire life.

His mental joining – mind dump – with the Ambassador had been nothing like this; it had _hurt_, the sheer amount of _grief_ and _anger_ and _heartbreak_ and _urgetokillhurtdestroy_ and _sadness_ and _loneliness_ had been enough to give him nightmares from sheer terror for weeks afterwards. The old man had no intention of harming him, but had lost control of the meld from what he'd been able to understand. He wasn't bitter about it, because for heaven's sake the poor guy had had enough on his plate without having to worry about Jim Kirk's fragile human brain overloading with the galaxy at stake, but it was hard to watch this.

_This_, being how it was supposed to be, evidently.

There was just something heartbreaking about watching two old men cry without knowing they were.

He wasn't the only one whose best destiny had been ruthlessly wrenched out of his control.

Halfway through, his older counterpart's hands had reached out blindly, fumbling until one rested in a mirroring position on the old Vulcan's face, the other clenched trembling in the front-folds of the ambassador's robe. The open grief, the open sympathy, the open whatever-else-that-was that he dared not put a name to but it was obvious they were sharing – he felt like a peeping Tom, and yet he couldn't help but watch, his heart twisting.

Even a glimpse into half-veiled thought-memories in a hasty mind-joining on Delta Vega couldn't have prepared him for the sheer magnitude of loyalty and love that illuminated the small room with something he'd never have, never could have, because of how screwed up his own reality already had been. Their symbiosis held a fluid grace of gentility and deference that made him self-conscious, awkward, aware all too clearly of his own coarse and brittle camaraderie with his own First. He was a boor in the company of gentle beings, a court jester in the midst of nobility, a child before respected elders, a lucky nobody thrown awkwardly into the place of another universe's most famous hero.

A puppet captain in the presence of history's greatest starship command team.

And besides, who could compete with – literally, thanks to Q and Destiny – immortality?

These two were the stuff that legends and dreams were made of, and unfortunately such magic had no place in this harsher reality.

It was just too painful a reminder of how twisted his own destiny was, and the open sting of the wound was too raw.

He fled, not even seeing Spock as he brushed past the Vulcan in the corridor outside.

-ooo-

He wasn't sure how long he had been on the Observation Deck, but it was long enough that his legs were starting to fall asleep from the pressure of his elbows as he sat, elbows on knees and fists propped under his chin, staring out at the stars.

Ever since that one time at a precocious four years old, when his mother had actually been home long enough to take him on a trip to the Des Moines Planetarium, he had fallen in love with the stars. They had beckoned him for years, though the siren song had been muted, distorted through more heartache than he would even admit to himself or anyone else – but still they had remained his sole constant love through all those who had failed before.

The stars were unchanging, beautiful and distant, constant and true guides through life, or so poetry always said. You could order your life and steer your ship by them, in any century. Their cycles governed personalities, and their allure evoked passion and dreams. Their ethereal beauty filtered through billions of light-years to produce a sense of calm, of peace, and every child knew to wish upon their twinkling brilliance.

But somewhere out there, there was one missing; a haunting, stark reminder of the fate that had befallen the greatest, most revered planet in the Federation. The shining light of Vulcan could still be seen from Earth, from the Sol system and others – for the dying shadows of an imploding planet had not yet traveled the many lightyears' distance to those regions. If he knew where to look, he could have seen the light of a vanished planet still here, in this space; in another fifty years that would be gone, and the reminders of what they had lost would truly be no more.

Q had been right in one thing, he reflected bitterly, as his eyes scanned the twinkling heavens for the thousandth time. Destiny had majorly botched this timeline.

He was glad for the Ambassador, that things had at least worked out a little for the poor guy; he wasn't selfish enough to wish for anything else – but he had to feel a little bitterness over the fact that it had, ultimately, been the elderly Vulcan's doing that started the ball of chaos rolling. Though Spock wasn't to blame for Nero or Romulus's sun going nova, the vestiges of blame still hovered over him – for they had to blame someone, that was human nature.

But he had seen the soft light of pure joy that had appeared in the old Vulcan's eyes when he had caught sight of a man he believed long dead in his own universe, and he couldn't begrudge either Old Spock or his own counterpart what little remnants of comfort they had right now in each other. They were _all_ each other had, now…so why in the universe was he so hopelessly, horribly _jealous_ of them?

He wasn't really surprised when the doors to the Observation Deck opened behind him, and a moment later a body settled silently beside him on the bench before the largest of the transparent poly-aluminum windows.

They sat in silence for a good three or four minutes, give or take. Then, he sighed, and glanced over at Spock's impassive face, as it was softened and outlined in bluish-purple halos from the starlight.

"This whole thing is really awkward, you know?" he asked, quite seriously.

"Indeed," was the quiet reply, though Spock's eyes were elsewhere, looking into the distance in a direction Jim sadly suspected was the way Vulcan had lain. "You appear to have become…melancholy, rather than maintaining your former excitement, regarding the outcome of this mission," Spock added, not without gentleness, but with an audible note of hesitancy.

"Yeah," he agreed softly, but offered no explanation.

None was needed, at least for now, and he was grateful for that. For a long time they sat, looking out at the stars, and saying nothing.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he finally blurted, not even knowing why he was talking or if he should shut the heck up before he embarrassed himself to a _Vulcan_, of all beings.

Spock's voice, when he finally turned his full attention to his captain, was at least sincerely curious. "About what, Captain?"

"About…everything," he muttered, leaning more weight on his elbows and keeping his eyes on the floor, hands clasped before him. "How messed up our timeline is…how that maybe Q was right when he said we probably should just not exist in the first place. It's just…so unfair, Spock." His voice was almost a whisper at the end, and at that point he didn't care if he was probably broadcasting a full spectrum of emotions at his poor Vulcan friend. "If only things had been different…if I'd been one minute quicker on that drill! We –"

"Enough, Jim." Spock's voice sliced through the unhappy muddle that was his brain, but so gently that it felt more like a cleansing than a dissection. "What is, is, and it cannot be changed. We could continue wishing otherwise for eternity, but that will not change that which exists."

"I know," he whispered. The cold chill that had sifted through his whole body had settled somewhere near his heart, and now it contracted painfully. "Believe me, I know. But I don't think I'll ever be able to stop thinking about what could have been different, if only I'd acted sooner, or done something differently." He sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment over his clasped hands.

Spock was silent, neither condemning nor excusing nor absolving, which was only what he had expected.

What he had not expected, was for the Vulcan to move slightly closer to him on the bench, so close he could feel the presence of the body next to his own.

He didn't look up, and so when Spock spoke it startled him.

"One meter, fifteen-point-five centimeters."

His head jerked up so quickly a vertebra snapped satisfyingly in his neck. "Come again?" he asked incredulously.

Spock was staring at some non-existent spot on the durasteel flooring, his eyes filled only with star-reflection and pain. "One meter, fifteen-point-five centimeters, Captain. Had I been able to span that distance with my arm and hand, or had I taken two paces forward before Ensign Chekov activated the Transporter lock…"

Oh…

He had to swallow on a fist of sick nausea that had just punched him in the stomach, before he nodded in mute, silent sympathy.

Spock's eyes slid over to meet his, deep and dark in the painful understanding that only comes of shared survival. "Not a day passes that I do not consider what might have been, Jim," he said quietly. "But to linger on such thoughts is neither healthy nor productive. What is past, must remain so, else it is a disservice to the present."

"Yeah," he agreed, sighing. "But that doesn't make it any easier to stomach, does it?"

"It does not," Spock agreed, and they fell silent for a moment.

Then – "We're not them, you know," he suddenly and almost painfully changed the subject, not really knowing where the words were coming from.

The ironic eyebrow flitted upward just a fraction. "I was aware, Captain."

"Wise guy. But seriously," he continued, half-turning toward his First, "I've never seen anything like that. I mean you could, like, almost feel the…" he gestured helplessly, trying to formulate a description of the aura that surrounded their older counterparts like a ceremonial shroud of mystic power.

Spock arched an eyebrow. "The _trust_, between them?"

He winced; you could always count on a Vulcan to knife into the heart of the matter, twisting the blade as he went. "Yeah. I...I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a very trusting individual, Spock."

"This, from the human whose sole piece of wisdom that his arrogant plan to destroy the drill, the _Narada_, and recover Captain Pike would succeed was simply 'It'll work.'"

"Again with the snark," he chuckled, secretly delighted that in this area at least his Spock had no objection to meeting fire with fire in the area of verbal fencing. "I knew you'd get the drill and then the _Narada_."

"And may I ask, how?"

He halted, brows furrowed…because he honestly had no idea, other than the fact that he knew Spock would find a way to get the job done. He'd had no doubt that if he'd failed to get Pike out of the _Narada_, Spock would have kamikazed the Ambassador's ship into the Romulan vessel and sent the whole quadrant into the enormous singularity that resulted.

But he couldn't really pinpoint how he knew their highly unlikely plan would work.

"I just…" He gulped, and wished he had chosen a better hiding place than this so that this ridiculously nosy Vulcan couldn't have found him so easily. "…Okay, look, this is going to sound really stupid and sappy," he warned, and saw a twitch of amusement perk up the corner of Spock's lips in response. "But it's just that…whenever I feel you behind me, I…I believe I can do anything in the universe, no matter what Starfleet or anyone else says," he muttered, face burning with embarrassment at the sentiment.

There was silence to his right for a very _so_ _very_ awkward few moments, during which he calculated how quickly he could get to the sliding doors before his First started laughing (inside of course) at his illogical insecurities, and then Spock's calm voice, vibrating with intensity, interrupted his trajectory computations.

"Whatever our lives might have been before the distortion of Time, our destinies have changed, Jim. Do you still believe yours to be to command a Federation starship, the flagship of the 'Fleet?"

He did not even need to think about it; even if he wasn't ever going to be a legend, he was dead sure of what he was supposed to be, and _Enterprise_ belonged to _him, _thanks very much. "Without question."

"I cannot profess to foresee the entirety of what is now this universe's Destiny. But, I…have it on good authority that mine, at least, is to be by your side. _Captain_."

He looked up, and grinned through the warmth wrapping around him despite the chill of the star-strewn glass before them. For a moment their reflections looked hazily back at them, side by side beneath the galaxy's vast expanse and both defiant in the face of an unfair Destiny.

"I can live with that," he whispered at last, and Spock's reflection smiled.

* * *

**Footnotes**

**Chapter Fourteen**  
(1) Bendii Syndrome is what Ambassador Sarek finally died of as we see in the ST:TNG episodes in which he appears, _Sarek_ and _Unification_ (Part I). I see it as a kind of Vulcan emotional Alzheimer's disease; a terminal degenerative neurological condition which causes them to lose their ability to control emotion. Nothing is said about it being hereditary, but again I'm trying to draw some continuity here and I don't think it's a stretch to consider it might be hereditary.  
(2) This may sound melodramatic, but if you truly research and read between the lines of the Star Trek trilogy (II, III, and IV), you'll find that it is true. From _Amok Time_ to _Journey to Babel _to _The Search for Spock_ to _The Voyage Home_, James Kirk's destiny has been intertwined with the planet Vulcan and not just due to his First Officer's being native to it. Ambassador Sarek's attitude underwent drastic changes toward him from JtB to TVH, and I for one love studying the transformation.  
(3) Reference to the episode _The Corbomite Maneuver_. In my own personal canon, that term in the Trek world came to become a household word meaning a brilliant, desperate gamble for high stakes.  
(4) _Kaiidth_ is the Vulcan proverb _what is, is_.  
(5) For a long time, that scene in ST:XI bothered me so badly; one, as being highly out of character for Spock (which I still contend it was, to not ask permission first, but that's not my issue here) but two, because a properly-controlled mind meld should not produce such emotional transference. The closest we see to such a thing is in ST:III, when Sarek basically coerces Kirk into a meld to view Spock's death and what happened to his katra; I believe from what I see that Sarek was grieving and was not prepared to be gentle with Kirk's mind, and the resulting grief was his fault. Understandably, Ambassador Spock was emotionally compromised beyond belief, but it was a drastic measure. However, when one understands that – other than the meld with Captain Picard at the end of _Unification_ (TNG, and Part II) – Spock had not performed a mind-joining that we know of in many decades, it seems a bit less drastic that he lost control of it in XI. Just my opinion of explanation.  
(6) Non-TOS geeks may not recognize the significance of the phrase, if they have not seen the episode _City__ on the Edge of Forever_. In that episode, Kirk tells Edith Keeler that someday into the future, someone will write a novel about that phrase, and will recommend _Let me help_ over any other words in the spoken language, including _I love you_. (It's an interesting point that the next time we hear the phrase is in the very next episode, _Operation Annihilate_; Spock to Kirk after Kirk's brother is killed by the Denevan neurological parasites).

* * *

**And so it ends, everyone. I do have quite a bit of material from the scrap pile that I was wanting to put into this universe and didn't, simply because that's not what this fic was about. The more that I wrote, the more I realized this wasn't an XI/TOS crossover; this was an XI story, through and through, a character study. If there's interest, I may do a series of oneshots set in this 'verse. So, interest, y/n? **

**This story will undergo a rewrite at some point, as it was written in a one-month period of time and is still quite rough (plot? what plot?); you may see minor edits here and there upon re-reading in the future.**

**Thank you so much for reading it now, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!**


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